"The baron plays dangerous games. And besides, I struck him hard. It might have been enough."
"It wasn't. If it had been, I'd know it here." Robin thumped his chest. "And now he'll use this charter to gain more power than ever. To kill, plunder, and rape the land and people as he pleases. I need to do something."
Cal bristled. He'd also judged his attack against Odo hadn't been a death strike, but disliked Robin's assumption. Did Robin think him too weak to kill? Worse, moments after they'd peaked as one, Robin acted as if it never happened.
"Seeing him again has awoken many memories," said Robin. "I've been asleep. Damn it, I've been little better than dead, and I've been wasting time. Come on. We should try southeast."
So I'm a waste of time.
Thank heavens Cal had learned his place before he made any more errors in judgment.
After swinging his pack up, Robin walked off without looking back, let alone asking how Cal was. In truth, Cal yearned for rest, and he was hungry. With effort, he managed to keep pace, picking through spiky branches set on plucking his eyes out. After a short while, anger forced the pertinent question.
"Were you and Odo ever lovers?"
Robin stopped dead and turned. "How can you ask me that? I was his prisoner. He tortured me, then threw me to his dungeon."
Cal refused to flinch. "I saw the way he looked at you."
Maybe what passed between Odo and Robin resembled those stupid stories of knights and their maidens they could never have. What love could be further out of one's reach than a baron's for an outlaw, or vice versa?
"I don't care how he looks at me," said Robin. "Odo once ordered a poacher's belly slit, nailed the end of the poor man's intestines to a post, and then forced him to walk, unravelling his own innards till he dropped. Odo's beyond cruel. His hands drip with innocent blood, some of which belonged to very dear friends of mine."
"Do you mean Daniel?" Cal wouldn't forget that name in the hurry. "Was Daniel a lover of yours?"
"Yes. And Daniel was a friend, the best kind a man can have. Odo killed him—or rather, Daniel died defending me, allowing my escape."
In the instant before Robin turned his back, the blaze of pain in his eyes cut Cal to the quick. Cal's jealous musings quieted but didn't go away.
"Hurry up," said Robin. "If I don't stop Odo, it'll be as if that innocent blood stains my hands too."
Cal stared after him, then launched into a laborious sprint. "What in the name of all that's sacred do you think you can do? The barons will be holed up in Castle Brock by tonight."
"We can't fight them there. But if they're going to steal even more from the people, I'm going to make damned well sure the people get a larger share back."
"How? Have you an army?"
"There are young men who would flock to my calling in the north, in Inglewood and Sherwood. Half of them already act in my name."
"A band of outlaws taking on the barons and their knights? You'd be slaughtered!"
"There will be no open battle, and I can't command you to come with me, Cal."
"Good. I have no death wish."
He regretted his quick words. Had this been the time for that vow to follow Robin to the ends of the earth?
Don't be an idiot. You wish to get out of this forest with him, and then…?
He sighed. What on earth could he do now? If he went to Castle Brock, he'd have to pray neither Odo nor the soldiers had recognized him when his hood had fallen back while he'd defended Robin. If they had, he still might be able to convince them it had all been some plan to entrap Robin. Torture and death seemed a more likely outcome, and Robin's recent reminder of Odo's barbarously cruel punishments had been timely. The sharp side of Marshal's tongue or whip seemed by far Cal's best option.
Home, then, to London, via the long road beyond the bounds of the forest. He could always appease the regent by warning him of an uprising among outlaws in the north. But damn it, the prospect of standing against Robin made him sick to his gut.
He'd have to throw his hands up, an injured husk of a man with his boyish charms fading and admit to Marshal he'd failed. Again.
He clenched his jaw and followed.
As his exhaustion deepened, the forest became more unforgiving. Drizzle thickened into icy fog that gathered in patches above the boggy ground. He sank knee-deep into the mud, the effort of dragging his sodden feet out more draining every time. Banshee-like cries, distant but growing louder, didn't help his jittering nerves. Forging on after Robin, he squinted through the mists that hung low above the swamps. Was it his eyes or a trick of the light, or did the hazy air glow green?
His mother had told him about the luminous mists of Niogaerst that rose from the underworld when the Wild Men came to claim a victim for sacrifice. And she'd reminded him many a time that their preferred prey was a Greenwood traitor.
Maybe this drizzle too would turn into the rain of Niogaerst that burned like poison and carved bloody grooves into flesh. He shuddered violently. A bestial roar made him jump, and he couldn't contain his feeble cry. "Oh God!"
Robin turned, and Cal half expected Robin to scold him for being a coward. After all, that was what he was. He stiffened his lower lip, but something soft in Robin's gaze undermined his efforts to look steely. He sniffed and drew freezing fingers across his brow.
"It's just a stag," said Robin, and his tone was kind. "It won't attack, but I'm sorry. I'll slow down. You look shattered." He hurried back and slipped an arm around Cal. Cal let him, though his tenderness set Cal's teeth on edge. It meant nothing. Robin was just being kind because he was a hero and kind to pretty much everyone. And Cal was…
Nothing to Robin. Nothing to anybody. He wouldn't even be counted among Robin's friends much longer. He couldn't go north with Robin only to watch him laugh and tumble with stronger, better men.
He leaned heavily on Robin as they waded through sludge that soaked to their thighs and chilled him to his marrow. The wind sliced into him, frigid claws heralding the onward charge of winter. Briefly he wished they were heading back to the ruins of Carseald Hall to curl up together beside the hearth, but no. This would be his last day in the Greenwood, and he was glad of it.
By the time Robin drew to a halt, the marshes had given way to the drier loam of oak woods. His hold about Cal tightened.
"What is it?" hissed Cal. Then his insides turned a somersault. A whirlwind of dust, mud, and dancing leaves rushed toward them through the trees, and at its heart a dark shape, a horseman.
Cal's every instinct hollered, Run, though he'd not the strength left in his legs. Robin took his wrist and pushed him behind, and then Robin drew his dagger. Hooves pounded against mulch, and a jet-black stallion reared up, framed between a pair of thick tree trunks not three yards off. The rider compelled Cal's attention and set his heartbeat flying. Bearded, brawny, he was the largest man Cal had ever seen. Two enormous antlers spread from his unruly mane of hair.
Herne the Hunter.
So this was who the Greenwood had summoned to dispose of Cal. Would Herne skewer him on those dreadful horns?
The stallion's snorted breath clouded in the evening air while the chatter of fairy voices swelled up behind Herne. The great huntsman grasped his reins in an enormous gauntleted fist, and his midnight-blue gaze impaled Cal.
He battled tears of sheer terror.
Then Robin squeezed his hand. "It's alright. I think he's on our side."
Cal's answer sounded embarrassingly like a squeak. "You think?"
Chapter Ten
Robin stood firm and squared his shoulders. Though Herne's weatherworn brow crumpled, Robin discerned no mortal threat from the legendary woodsman…at least not yet.
When Herne looked at Cal, hatred flashed, and Robin felt him tremble. Herne had no doubt heard the worst of Cal from the fairies that swarmed around them. No matter. Robin wouldn't surrender Cal to them.
"Good day to you, huntsman." His voice betrayed only a slight tremor.
H
erne inclined his head. "Is this man your hostage?"
No wavering now. "He is my friend."
The huntsman bared his teeth, then looked down at the Elfaene. She'd slipped to Herne's side without Robin's notice. The crown of her head didn't reach his stallion's flank. "Robin Hood protects the enemy," muttered Herne. "We cannot trust him."
"Patience," she replied and sighed up at Robin as if he were a child unable to perform the most basic task. "Stop playing the jester, outlaw. You have been trying to escape the Greenwood for over a day, and my prayers for you have gone unanswered. Is it not obvious that the forest refuses to set you free till you give the traitor up?"
"We have been waylaid, that's all," said Robin. "Let us be, and we'll find the paths we seek."
"Oh, in the name of the Goddess, look!" She slapped Herne the Hunter's massive thigh, inciting a grunt from the great man. "Is not this fine specimen a worthier partner for Robin Hood? We sought you because we have a new plan for fighting the barons—a better plan that you will like. Let Herne take the boy off your hands."
"You can't pass me over to him." Cal tugged Robin around.
"I'd never do that." Robin dropped his tone to a whisper, though he suspected the fairies gleaned every word. "But I think we should parley."
"Oh. I see." Cal curled his lip. "You've tasted my sweetmeats, and now I'm to be discarded. How noble, fair outlaw."
Cal's unfounded attack made dropping his hand easier. "I won't let them take you," said Robin. "But if the Elfaene is offering a new scheme to fight this charter, I must reconsider her alliance."
Herne alighted from his stallion, landing with a dull thud that shook the ground. The Elfaene gripped Robin's tunic and steered him toward the huntsman. Herne smoothed down his leather surcoat, drawing Robin's attention to the silver-rimmed hunting horn that hung from a chain at his side, which Herne used to summon his army of the undead.
The sight disgusted him. He'd rather die than join forces with anything as vile as the Wild Hunt.
"Herne has a scheme," announced the Elfaene, lifting her dainty arms. "He will only lead his band of wrath as a last resort. You and he will first draw up a charter of your own and give the barons an ultimatum. You will demand the freedom of the forests be returned to the common people. If they fail to please us, Herne will blow his horn and unleash the Wild Hunt, and you, Robin Hood, will thieve all that's left of the barons' wealth with your army of outlaws."
Herne confirmed his approval of the plan by darkening his glower. Robin met the sentiment with a matching scowl while silently conceding the beast was an undeniably fine-looking man. In the huntsman's eyes was a gut-wrenching grief that provoked Robin's sympathy, though he could not forget the evil Herne must have witnessed—indeed, been party to. Last time Herne had led the Wild Hunt, England had crumbled in his wake to the Norman tyrant who'd caused all this trouble in the first place.
"I'll put my name to the threat," said Robin, "but only that. I hope it's enough to force the barons to back down, but under no circumstances must the Wild Hunt actually ride."
Herne merely arched a brow. The Elfaene patted Robin's back. "I am sure matters will not come to that, once the traitor has done his part and delivered our ultimatum to Castle Brock."
"What?" Robin reeled on the spot. Cal blanched. "You want Cal to take the charter? Not a chance."
"Don't fret. The boy has you under his spell, but the enchantment of his tongue is weak. We will smash it for you."
"There is no spell that binds Cal and me. You've misjudged him."
"Ah, so he has told you whose man he is?"
She curved a knowing smile that set Robin's blood jolting.
"I'm yours." Cal touched Robin's arm. A cool breeze whipped between them, stripping ragged leaves from the oaks. "Don't listen to her."
Robin frowned at the Elfaene. "Cal's told me about his past."
"Has he told you he is a servant of the crown—or, more specifically, of the king's regent, the man they call William Marshal? You know of him, Robin Hood?"
"Marshal?"
Her purport tolled mutedly on his senses. He had indeed heard of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke. Few names in England were more famous—besides his own—than that of the man who held the reins of power. It was said the regent had eyes and ears everywhere, keeping track of all England's affairs…through his network of spies.
"Don't believe her!" Cal sounded too desperate. His cry was echoed by the shrill call of a hawk, which glided above the treetops.
Robin looked at the Elfaene. "What evidence have you got?"
"My daughters tracked the barons at the start of their passage through the Greenwood. The one they call Odo spoke of the boy Cal to a confidant. He'd suspicions about a spy among the company and deduced it might be he. The baron's theory was confirmed by one of the cursed foresters, Berolt. Apparently, this bear of a man had known from the start."
"This is all nonsense," said Cal, gripping Robin's sleeve and tugging. "Berolt always hated me, as these fairy creatures loathe me too. They lie, not me."
His voice, smooth now, chafed Robin's nerves. He brushed Cal away and prompted the Elfaene. "Go on."
"Berolt was paid by Marshal in the first instant," she said. "He'd refused to take the lad, whom he'd abhorred on sight, but a direct order came from Marshal, leavened by a handsome sum. Naturally Odo offered Berolt an even larger purse for the truth."
That explained why a forester with a rusty old sword carried the pouch of pure gold that currently weighed down Robin's pack, destined for the poor.
"Don't listen to her!" shouted Cal. "They're all against me. You know that."
Robin felt as if somebody had glazed a thin sheath of glass about his heart, then reached into his torso and crushed it, crystal razors shredding the tender organ within. He didn't want to believe the Elfaene, but she was no liar, at least not in this context. Cal reached toward him, saying something as the fairies pressed in around. Robin blocked Cal's words much more easily than he could the pain in his chest.
Friends didn't have secrets. Not like that. He could well imagine the rewards William Marshal would heap on the man who delivered him Robin Hood. Would Cal have stood at the regent's side while the executioner had Robin dance from the gibbet before cutting him down to eviscerate him alive?
He turned his back, and Herne blocked his path, his rampant antlers vanished. He folded his thick walnut-brown arms.
"You're not the first to be a fool for his kind," muttered Herne. He clapped his large palm on Robin's shoulder. Robin stood firm, though a lesser man would have staggered back, especially one who withered inside. "The man is a snake. Forget him."
*~*~*
Robin kept his back to Cal while he and Herne crouched beneath the oaks to draw up the ultimatum. His senses remained alert for any change in the scene behind.
The spy had not been restrained. Cal knelt in the middle of a circle of tall black toadstools while two fairies, perched in the branches above, nocked arrows in their bows, ready to run him through should he attempt to escape. Robin had bitten back his objections. Cal couldn't be trusted, but he was too clever to run and provoke them.
Still, the barbs aimed at Cal's back and chest made Robin uneasy. Now that the shock of Cal's identity had subsided, he couldn't hate Cal, let alone wish harm on him, and he refused to believe Cal would have betrayed him all the way to his death. He just felt…let down.
He threw his concentration to where Herne growled down at a quartz-coloured piece of vellum or some like substance. The fairies had provided it, so the sheet could be human skin for all Robin knew. The Elfaene had also presented Herne with a quill far too small for his enormous digits, setting the huntsman muttering and swearing with every attempt to form a letter. Eventually the Elfaene herself took on the task, though she claimed to abhor such a "base form of art as writing."
When she'd finished, she read her work aloud.
"All the common lands of the forest, seized by the tyrant William—an
d in addition those seized by Henry, the boy king's grandfather—shall be returned to the descendants of their rightful owners in the time of the Saxon kings and, where no such ownership is known of, to the common people of this realm. If this is not done, an army of outlaws will bring anarchy to the realm, and the Wild Hunt will ride. Not one of your fields will be left to yield grain or barley. All will be salt and dust.
"This is our vow, as lords of the forest. Herne the Hunter and Robin Hood."
The title Lord of the Forest piqued Robin's dry humour. He'd been assigned many names, but that was a new one to him. He'd rarely felt less like a lord or more desolate than he did now.
"Will you put your mark beside mine?" asked Herne.
Robin pinched the bridge of his nose. "We need to add something about allowing the people to graze their hogs and other beasts and concerning the freedom to hunt. And we must demand that the foresters stop punishing men at will."
"If you say so."
The Elfaene made the additions, which she read back to Robin. Dusk descended, and on vellum rippled by candlelight, he scrawled two scratchy letters, the only he knew, next to the huntsman's.
R.H.
"The baron won't doubt it's me. Our paths crossed earlier, and he would have bested me if it hadn't been for…for Cal."
Oh Goddess. Cal.
The remembrance of Cal's kiss, his smile, their joy and oneness as they'd tumbled in the ivy—the ghost of their bond coaxed him to take Cal's part, once and for all.
Herne levelled his brows. "What?"
"Cal fought at my side. He saved my life. We can't send him to Odo. The baron might have recognized him, or one of the knights. I won't let you take him."
"But he is the perfect messenger," the Elfaene called from the branches above them. "And if you fear for his safety, then we can demand he delivers their reply in person."
Not good enough. No way could he drop Cal into Odo's clutches. He seized the charter from the ground and leaped to his feet. "I'll rip this in two if you don't think of another way to get it to them."
Herne rose too, flexing his fists without enthusiasm.
Lord of the Forest Page 10
