Tess Mallory - Circles in Time

by Circles In Time (V1. 0) (Lit)

  "Kendra knew nothing about it," Marian said softly, hanging her head. "I—I was angry with you for ignoring me, for leaving me at the mercy of John and Garrick. I stole chicken's blood from the kitchen. I suppose I thought if you cared, you would follow." She glanced over at Kendra. "I am sorry, Kendra."

  "You should not be asking her forgiveness but mine," Navarre said harshly. "You repay my kindness with wickedness!"

  "Do not speak to Lady Marian about treachery and wickedness," Robin said, casually slipping an arrow from the quiver on his back and fitting it into the longbow he held. "For that is a crime you know too well yourself. As for this encounter, I am quite willing to take credit for that which is mine, old friend, however, in this I must plead innocent. Nevertheless, I do thank the lady if indeed her plan was to deliver you into my hands. However, I do not understand the meaning of the story she was spinning unless it was meant to delay you until we arrived."

  "I did not plan this," Kendra said emphatically, "and my story is true. I was sitting by the spring—"

  "Sitting very enticingly, I might add," Navarre said.

  Suddenly Kendra had had enough. She whirled on Navarre, her hand flying to connect with his solid face in a resounding whack. He flinched and she spun away from him, resolutely stalking over to Robin Hood where she stood, arms folded across her chest, her expression furious.

  "I do think that—" Robin began, only to be cut off by Kendra's angry voice.

  "Shut up! I've had enough! I've had enough from all of you! You're going to listen to me!" She punched her finger into the astonished outlaw's chest as he and his men looked on, open-mouthed. "You heard me tell Navarre my story. I am from the future! I don't know why I was brought back here but here I am! Now if you want to lock me up, kill me, burn me at the stake, go ahead and do it! But there's one thing you should know. Since I'm from the future I know the future and I could be a great asset to your plans to save England! Moreover, Navarre and Garrick have a weapon that could easily kill Richard from a great distance. So I suggest everyone be a little nicer to me, if you want my help."

  She sank to her knees and covered her face with her hands, too exhausted to go on.

  Robin stared down at her for a long moment, letting the longbow sag, the arrow between his fingers.

  "Your words ring true," he said, "and it would explain much. Yet, there is only one way to find out where you speak the truth or lie."

  Kendra looked up at him, her face streaked with tears, her voice calm. "What do I have to do?" she asked. "Just tell me what to do."

  The corner of Robin's mouth lifted in a half smile. "You, milady? Why you do not have to do a thing. Little John!"

  The big man strode forward at the command. "Aye, Robin?"

  "Go into the forest. Find Magda and bring her here."

  "Magda?" Kendra's eyes widened at the sound of the name. "Is she the druid priestess, the one who prophesied I would come?"

  "The one who prophesied that Richard's salvation would come to Abury," Robin said. "Aye. She will come and tell us if your words be false or true."

  "What about him?" Little John asked, jerking his head toward Navarre.

  Robin lifted the longbow once again and pulled the string taut, the shaft of the arrow balanced straight between his fingers and the bow. He turned the point toward Navarre de Galliard and let the arrow fly. Kendra cried out as the shaft darted through the air toward the knight.

  "Navarre!"

  Navarre didn't move as the arrow winged toward him, even as the two men holding him dropped his arms and fled. Navarre de Galliard stood straight and unyielding, staring at Robin Hood, his golden eyes burning with suppressed anger.

  The arrow swept past him and buried itself with a resounding plunk in a round knot in the tree.

  Robin smiled with a curious kind of satisfaction, then turned back to Little John. "Tie him up," he ordered. "Tie them both up and set a guard over them. We shall hear what Magda says about the woman, whether she be Richard's salvation"—the smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come—"or his destruction."

  The woman called Magda sat at the fire's edge, her eyes closed, her hands clasped together in front of her, her throat quivering with the low-voiced keening she had begun the moment she first saw Kendra. Little John had brought the druid priestess into the camp a few minutes before sundown and now he, Robin, Alan-a-Dale, Kendra, and Navarre all sat watching the old woman rock back and forth performing her strange ritual. A handful of Robin's men stood guarding them. Marian sat in the shadows, her eyes round with wonder. Kendra and Navarre sat on the ground with their backs touching, their hands tied together behind them.

  "What is she doing?" Kendra asked, craning her head back toward Navarre.

  "She is communing with the gods," Navarre said, his voice low. "In a moment she will cast the runes to the ground and read them. Your fate rests in her hands."

  Kendra closed her eyes. "I thought you believed me when I said I wasn't a witch," she whispered. "Did all of last night mean so little to you? I gave myself to you, body and soul. You said you loved me. Did you think to revenge yourself on me by making me think it was true?"

  Navarre opened his mouth to tell her it was only a ruse to protect her, when out of the corner of his eyes he caught sight of Alan-a-Dale sitting behind the copse of bushes at their backs, listening very attentively to their conversation.

  "Aye," he said roughly. "You had tortured me with your seductress ways for so long, that I decided to make you burn with the same fire you had lit inside of me. Now that I have satisfied myself, I am free of you."

  He grimaced as he felt Kendra's sharp intake of breath and felt the tremble in her body at his words. Cautiously he felt for her hands behind his back, hoping to press them and communicate to her his pretense. He was surprised when she complacently curled her fingers inside of his. Turning around toward her as far as the ropes would allow, he saw one eyelid slide into what could have been a wink before she glared back at him.

  "Do not speak to me," she said, averting her face. "For you have sorely wounded me with your hateful words. I knew you were evil and that Robin was good! May God forgive me for ever believing your words of love."

  Magda stopped singing abruptly, then slowly turned and looked directly at Kendra. Their gazes locked for a long moment and Navarre saw Kendra shiver as the old woman's eyes narrowed.

  "Bring her to me," she said.

  Robin cut Kendra's bonds and jerked her to her feet, propelling her toward the old woman, his face grim.

  The forest had grown dark again and Navarre wondered how soon he dared try to escape. If Magda declared Kendra to be Richard's salvation, Robin would grant her freedom and in return, she would help him as soon as she could, of that he was certain. He frowned. Or rather, he was reasonably certain. Surely she had realized his ploy, else she would not have winked at him. Unless that was mayhap an accident, not intended as a signal. No, of course it was. Of course she knew he had not truly betrayed her.

  Robin stopped at the old woman's side and, dropping Kendra's arm, bowed from the waist, one hand sweeping down toward Magda.

  "Milady," he said politely, "this is Magda, the last druid priestess in all of England. Do not fear. Even if Magda's words speak against you, I promise no harm will come to you." His white teeth flashed evenly in the moonlight. "Unlike my friend, Navarre, I do not mind that your beauty has ensorcelled me, and I welcome any fire you may wish to ignite within me."

  Navarre felt the jealousy dart through him, then smiled grimly to himself. Locksley would burn in hell before he would touch Kendra.

  "Come here, child," Magda said, motioning with one gnarled hand. Kendra sank down beside her, her eyes suddenly round and fearful. Magda lifted one hand to her face, touching her cheek lightly, staring deeply once again into the woman's eyes, her own pale ones hawk-like in the moonlight. Kendra stared back at her as one transfixed, and Navarre shifted uneasily on the ground.

  He had heard many tales of Magda. Mag
da the Good, she was called, but nevertheless, the thought of Kendra's fate resting in the hands of a pagan priestess who still worshiped trees and a whole plethora of gods made him suddenly quite nervous. He leaned forward as Magda picked up Kendra's hand, turning it over and smoothing the palm with her own. She then cupped Kendra's face between her withered fingers and gazed for another long moment into the woman's eyes.

  "Your palm speaks of great destiny," Magda said at last, "and your eyes have revealed your secrets. Robin has told me naught of you, neither where you came from, nor whom you are." She chuckled, the sound deep and surprisingly pleasant. "In spite of himself, Robin is, in fact, quite the Christian. The only way he believes poor Magda anymore is if I tell him all, without his giving me so much as a hint."

  "Enough, Magda," Robin said quietly. "Read the runes and tell me of this woman—who she is, where she is from, what her purpose is in England."

  Magda nodded, wisps of thin gray hair falling forward as she dropped Kendra's hand and picked up a jumble of small, stone-like tablets from her lap.

  Magda was keening again, soft and low, and Navarre felt a prickle of apprehension dance up his spine. Kendra glanced back at him and he saw fear in her eyes, then carefully, almost imperceptibly, she once again lowered her left eyelid. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath and now expelled it in a sigh of relief. She understood. Relieved, yet impatient to be rid of his bonds, Navarre tested the ropes that held him. He froze as Magda's voice drifted back to him.

  "Do not struggle so against your destiny, Navarre de Galliard," she said in her singsong voice. "You must allow the salvation to touch you as well."

  Navarre saw Robin glance his way, and responded with a shrug.

  "Tell me of Kendra O'Brien," Robin said.

  The priestess dropped Kendra's hand and stood. "She is not what she appears to be. Her home is in a far and distant place, and yet, it does not yet exist. She lives where men fly and people live to great ages, where people speak to one another from far distances through small boxes, and where other, powerful boxes control almost everything. Their powerful, mighty weapons destroy everything in their path and warfare has become so fearful they dare not wage it for fear of destroying the earth itself. She is from the far and distant future, my lord."

  Robin flung the drink he held into the fire, his face wreathed with anger. "Again this nonsense! I care not of men flying or small boxes. Is she the one sent to save Richard?"

  Magda paused, the moment long and pregnant. Navarre tensed as he watched Kendra's back grow rigid with apprehension.

  "Aye," Magda said, nodding her gray head. "She is Richard's salvation, but she also brings his destruction with her."

  "The gun," Kendra whispered under her breath.

  "She spoke of a weapon," Robin said quickly, "a weapon that Navarre and Garrick can use to kill Richard."

  Magda nodded, continuing to stare at the runes. "Aye, I see it now. She is Richard's salvation, though perhaps not as we supposed." She turned and looked directly at Navarre. "Perhaps this would be a good time to inform Sir de Galliard about the barons journeying to Nottingham, eh, Sir Robin?"

  Navarre shot the outlaw a suspicious look. "What does the crone mean?"

  Robin crossed the short expanse between them, coming to a stop in front of his prisoner, legs spread, hands on his hips. He stared down at Navarre, his sharp-featured face shadowed in the firelight, his gaze searching that of his old friend. Navarre returned his stare, trying not to remember the carefree days before the crusade when he and Robin had been friends.

  Apparently the same thoughts were crossing the outlaw's mind, for suddenly he squatted beside his prisoner, his face earnest, his voice low.

  "Why, Navarre?" he asked. "Why have you turned against Richard and England? I know you are too intelligent not to realize the destruction that will come if John sits upon the throne. Or perhaps you hope to be one of those who will pull his hapless strings and in this way rule England?"

  "You know better than that, Robin," Navarre said, finding it hard suddenly to maintain his anger as his old friend spoke to him so frankly.

  Robin shrugged. "I know nothing about you now. The Navarre I knew would not have thrown his lot in with such men as Garrick Neushaw, nor Richard's ruthless brother. The Navarre I knew would have been at my side, helping me fight the men who are bleeding England dry, not fighting with them."

  "It is Richard who has bled England dry, my friend," Navarre said solemnly. "He sold her lands and titles to the highest bidder—I am proof of that—so that he might journey to other lands and wage war against the innocent."

  Robin lifted one tawny brow in surprise. "Surely you do not consider infidels innocent?"

  "I consider any woman or child an innocent, regardless of their religion."

  "Ah." Robin sat down beside the knight, linking his hands together. "You speak of Acre."

  Navarre glanced over at Kendra and Magda. The two sat silently, their gazes fixed on the two men. The knight nodded.

  "Aye. If you've heard of the atrocities there then you know why I have turned my back upon Richard."

  "War is not pretty, Navarre. You know that better than I. Soldiers kill and oftentimes it is the helpless and innocent who must pay."

  Navarre twisted his arms suddenly against the ropes holding him. "War does not justify murder," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "Not even for a king."

  Robin nodded. "I have heard tales of a great knight whose heart was stolen by an infidel maid. When she died, at Richard's command, they say the knight turned his back on his king and vowed to one day murder him."

  Navarre saw Kendra struggling to keep from looking at him, felt Magda's eyes upon him, and fought against the rage bubbling up inside of him.

  "Children's fables," he said, when he could govern his words. "What is this of the barons?"

  "Ah, yes, another interesting twist to the story. I and my men began a journey to Nottingham last eve, which is why the fair Kendra's absence went unnoticed. I had taken most of my men, leaving only some younger louts as guards, none of which had yet met our beautiful guest." He nodded in Kendra's direction. "Along our journey we chanced to bed at an inn—Alan-a-Dale and Little John and I—whilst the rest of the men continued toward Nottingham." He stood and paced a few steps toward the fire, his hands clasped behind him. "Can you guess whom we met at the inn?"

  "I am not a child to play at guessing games," Navarre growled.

  Robin spun around, the cocksure grin back in place. "A large group of men entered as we sat drinking our ale, several of whom I recognized—Warwick, Suffolk, and others—" Navarre stiffened and Robin's smile widened. "What do you suppose could have moved those worthies to journey together?"

  Navarre stared back at him stonily. He and Garrick had arranged for a meeting with the barons, but it was not to be for another fortnight. Had Garrick taken advantage of his absence and called for the barons to meet without him?

  "'Rather a foolish proposition, wouldn't you say," Robin went on, "for all of the most powerful men in England to gather together in one place? 'Twould make them an easy target for their enemies."

  "What is your point?" Navarre demanded.

  Robin crossed back to him. "My point is this—join me, Navarre. I know not what treachery you are about, but there is still time to pledge yourself anew to your sovereign." He waved one hand as Navarre opened his mouth to speak. "I do not say Richard is perfect, far from it. He has abandoned England, entrusting it to such as I, yet without granting me any authority or pardon." He bent down beside Navarre and the knight saw the fervency in his old friend's eyes. "I do not hold England for Richard, I hold it for England. And yet, Richard is her king, right or wrong, and I will not see him usurped by one such as John."

  "And if there were another?" The words were out of Navarre's mouth before he could stop them. The old feelings of camaraderie were still strong between the two men, making Locksley an even more dangerous foe than he had supposed.

>   "Another?" Robin shook his head. "While Richard lives there is no other."

  "Therein lies your ignorance," Navarre said, the anger surging inside of him at Robin's words. "For I do not hold with the belief that God has ordained Richard as king, to do as he pleases, responsible to no one, to take England down into the ocean if it suits his fancy! If he is to be king then let him act as a king! How many days has he spent on these shores since being made our sovereign? How much interest has he shown in our affairs? Nay—" he shook his head vehemently "—he has sold England to those who may bid the highest."

  "Of whom you are one."

  "Aye, which is my point exactly. When a bastard such as I can buy his place in nobility then something is wrong, Robin."

  "Your father was noble. I see no conflict."

  "That is not the issue!" Navarre stumbled to his feet and two men ran up to him, swords drawn. Robin motioned them back.

  "And what is the issue, my friend?"

  "The issue is this: England must no longer be held hostage by the whims of idiotic or selfish kings who seek their own pleasures whether those pleasures be wine, wenching or wars! England must govern herself, using the minds of men who have a vested interest in her government, her lands, her laws!"

  Navarre stood trembling with emotion, aware he had said too much, yet he was too angry to care. Locksley wielded great power in this part of England. If he could be persuaded, other barons would follow. His mindless following of Richard filled Navarre with frustration, especially since Robin acknowledged Richard's failures.

  Robin stared back at him, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "This does not sound to me the voice of a man who seeks to place John upon the throne. Will you speak frankly to me, Navarre? Will you tell me what your true quest involves, and why the barons are gathering at Nottingham? I sent men ahead to watch the proceedings and hurried back here in hopes you would confide in me as you used to, long ago."