Chapter Fourteen

“You look precisely how I feel.” The soft voice, just at Sparrow’s shoulder, caused him to start and pull his gaze away from the couple sitting on the other side of the clearing. Sally stood beside him, her pretty face clouded by grief and another emotion, locked down tight. “Yet I can promise you, staring at them will change nothing.”

“Was I staring?” Sparrow asked, dismayed.

“Endlessly, ever since he promised her they would rescue Lil.”

Ruefully, Sparrow met Sally’s eyes, green as leaves and full of wisdom. “They have been inseparable since then.” Three days, and Wren had virtually lived and slept by Martin’s side. Intense huddles, endless meetings with Wilfred and others from inside Nottingham, planning sessions with Alric. Sparrow had barely spoken to her in all that time.

Had she chosen already?

“Why not?” Sally’s voice oozed pain. “Can love not come so swiftly as that? And was she not born to love one of you?”

“Aye, but why him?”

Sally’s smile was hard and rueful. “Look at him. Is he not everything any sane woman might desire? Handsome, bold, courageous, and the very essence of Sherwood. I, myself, loved him from the moment I saw him.”

“You were but a child then.”

“Aye, and all that time I have never looked at another. Did you know he slept with me all last winter?”

Sparrow knew. He had half envied Martin—to whom things came so easily—but not half as fiercely as now.

“I thought I had won his heart, back when the snow fell. But now he turns away from me as lightly as if I never mattered to him.”

“I am sorry,” Sparrow told her awkwardly. “You have lost much.” Her father, her home, and now Martin, who poured his attention and charm over Wren with a persistence that bordered on the maniacal.

“I have lost everything,” Sally corrected. “You probably think I should have some pride. But what I feel overweighs that.”

Sparrow understood. Oh, how he understood.

“One thing I do know.” Sally gave Sparrow another, bitter smile. “Watching them changes nothing. It only deepens the pain.”

“You are right. Yet I cannot seem to help myself.” Already Sparrow had memorized everything about Wren—the precise color of her hair, the length of her limbs, the grace with which she moved, and the flash of intelligence in her eyes. He liked to keep watch for her smile, rare and fleeting, loved the way she handled a bow or stood, sometimes, gazing up into the trees as if listening for something, or someone.

“Can you keep a secret?” Sally asked, lowering her voice.

“Aye.” Sparrow bent his head closer to hers.

“I am carrying his child. Martin’s.”

Sparrow’s stomach plummeted. “Are you sure?”

She gazed away and nodded. “I show all the signs.”

“By God, Sally! How far—?”

“I would say three months, maybe a bit more. Not so he can tell.”

“He needs to know, Sal.”

Her expression grew mutinous. “No. You promised me, Sparrow.”

“But that is not a thing to be kept from a man.”

“He wants her, now. He wants the place at her side, as headman of Oakham. Deny that is so.”

Sparrow could not deny it.

“But he deserves to know.”

“Do not be a fool, Sparrow. He has but one thing in his mind, and ’tis not me, nor any child of mine.”

“Of his, you mean.”

“I mean to take care of it, Sparrow.”

“How is that?”

“There are ways to lose a babe—drenchings and potions. I meant to go to Lil.”

Sparrow’s heart dropped still further. “Lil would never help you do such a thing.”

“No? Well, there are other women who will. Gert, over in West Riding—”

“She is no better than a butcher. Sally, listen to me. Children born in Sherwood are rare and special, often important, often blessed.”

“This one will not be born here, nor at all.”

“Have you spoken to Madlyn of this?” Her first grandchild—surely Madlyn would fight for its preservation.

“Not a word.” Sally tossed at him before walking off. She did not look back.

Sparrow clenched his fists against a sudden urge to hit someone—Martin, preferably, to knock some sense into him. Why could the man not see what lay before him? Sally went round with her heart in her eyes. Was Martin truly such a prize?

You are jealous, lad, Sparrow told himself, and knew it for truth. Why could Wren not look at him the way she looked at Martin, with trust and admiration? That one shared kiss had made him believe she felt something for him, yet in the three days since they received word about Lil, she had stuck to Martin like a burdock. Seldom did Sparrow see her chestnut head without Martin’s shaggy, fair one beside it.

Except now.

Sparrow watched as Martin walked away, his sword in his hand, and left Wren standing on her own beneath the tall beech at the northeast corner of camp.

Sparrow wasted no time in approaching her. She looked up at him with a guarded expression, strained and grim.

“Where has Martin gone?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Something is amiss with the pommel of his sword. He means to take it to the smith at Oakham.”

A miracle! Sparrow drew a breath. “Come walk with me.”

“No.”

“Eh?” Her abrupt refusal made Sparrow cock his head.

Wren sighed. “I am not in the mood for a stroll in the forest.”

“You seem to have plenty of time for Martin.” As soon as he spoke the words, Sparrow wanted to thump himself.

The look in her eyes cooled; now he could see lines of weariness in her face. “Listen to me, Sparrow. I care nothing for any rivalry between the two of you. I care for nothing at all save Lil, and I have not slept since the news about her came. Whatever you wish to say to me, you can say here.”

Sparrow’s spine stiffened. “I understand you are distraught. We all care about Lil. But this scheme of entering the castle is ill-conceived.”

“Is it?”

“Aye. You may as well put Martin’s sword to your own throat as take yourself into Nottingham.” Why did he hurl these hard words at her when he wanted so badly to take her in his arms? She wore an air of toughness and showed, always, such a desire to fight. But he could sense the vulnerability underneath it all, and he longed to kiss those lips she barely kept from trembling.

“You chide me, Sparrow, for spending my time with Martin. Yet he has offered me a plan, a means to the one thing I desire—winning Lil free. She has been a mother to me.” Wren blinked against tears. “The only one I have known. I would follow Martin anywhere in order to save her.”

“What is this grand scheme of Martin’s, then?” Sparrow asked, not without an edge.

“Of his and Wilfred’s, for we shall have help inside—Wilf, plus others within the castle who are sympathetic to our cause. Many there love Lil and are unhappy about her imprisonment. In the evening at the close of market day, when folk are still coming and going, we will gain entry to the castle proper. Martin says that has already been done successfully, many times.”

“So it has.”

“Wilfred will meet us there, he and another guard named Cedric, who is in with us and who means to wrangle for himself duty at the dungeons.”

“How?”

“Eh?”

“Lambert does not seem a man whose plans are easily manipulated.”

“Martin says Wilfred is confident.”

“Does he? What then?”

“Wilf leads us in, and we take Lil away with us.”

“As easy as that, eh?”

“Do not patronize me, Sparrow. I do not hear you offering anything better. In fact, I do not hear you offering at all. At least Martin has the courage to try.”

“Oh, aye, Martin has courage in buckets, some of it the foolhardy variety. Why must you go, and endanger yourself?”

“Shall I ask anyone else to take a risk greater than I am willing to take myself?”

Sparrow blinked; it might be Robin Hood himself speaking. Not that Sparrow remembered him well, but his parents had told him scores of stories about Robin taking the lead in perilous situations, because he would ask no one else to undertake what he refused.

“No,” he said softly. “Yet I do believe it wiser to wait until Lil is brought forth for trial.”

Wren challenged him with her eyes. “And if she does not survive that long? If the Sheriff dies and she is left where she is, to rot?”

Sparrow, unable to help himself, reached out and smoothed her wild hair. He knew his touch would allow her to feel his concern and anxiety. “And should Lambert catch sight of you? What then?”

“Surely he has forgotten all about one lowly peasant who spurned him, among the many he has forced?”

“One who broke his cheekbone.”

“I shall go in disguise. Look, Sparrow, I appreciate your desire to protect me, a mere woman.”

“It is not that.”

“But if you truly wish to do something useful, teach me to shoot well enough to pick a guard off the wall above the foregate.”

Sparrow sighed deeply. Had he any choice? “Very well. Come along with you, then.”