"What of the woman?" Navarre asked, glancing over to where Kendra silently sat beside Magda.
"She will remain under my protection." Robin motioned to Little John. "Take her to my tent. I will speak with her further there."
"And does your protection include your bed?" Navarre asked, his voice carefully controlled.
Robin smiled. "If it pleases the lady."
"She is not for you," Magda said suddenly, rising from her hunched-over position in front of the fire. Her thin shoulders were stooped, yet Navarre could feel the power emanating from her as she turned and pointed a shaky finger at Locksley.
"She must fulfill her destiny and then return from whence she has come."
"I still don't know where that is, old woman," Robin said impatiently. "So far all I've heard is a lot of nonsense about the future and a broad indication that perhaps she will aid Richard in some unknown way. I have no time for mis." He turned back to Navarre. "Will you tell me your true intent for England?"
"Would it make any difference to you if it did not include Richard upon the throne?"
The two knights' gazes locked in a silent struggle. At last Robin shook his head.
"Nay," he said with a sigh. "I am bound to my king and I shall not betray him."
"Then I have nothing else to say."
"But I do."
Navarre and Robin both turned and stared at Kendra. From the moment she had taken her place beside Magda she had not uttered a word. Now she stood in front of the fire, auburn hair cascading around her in unbound glory, the firelight from behind turning it into a shimmering flame. Both men drew in a sudden breath of wonder, then frowned at one another as Kendra moved toward them.
"I don't know Navarre's plans," she said, "but I know he is a good man. He loves England as much as you do, Robin. Why is it so impossible for the two of you to join forces?"
"Because he bids me betray my king," Robin said. "Which I will never do."
Kendra turned to Navarre and he felt his heart flip over as the firelight illuminated her face. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses and he longed to reach for her and begin their lovemaking anew.
"Navarre," she said, her eyes boring into his, her lips trembling, "I must say something to you that you will not wish to hear, but please, listen to me."
He frowned. What was she up to now?
"I am listening," he said.
"Whether Robin believes me or not, you have said you believe my strange story." She pointed to Magda. "Magda believes and has affirmed that I am from the future, so hear me!" Her pink tongue darted across her lips and Navarre felt a wave of premonition sweep over him. When she spoke again it was slowly and distinctly, as though she spoke to someone who was addled, or dim-witted.
"Richard is meant to be king," she said. "I know the future—I have read the history books. Richard lives until the year 1199 and there is nothing you can do about it. John will succeed him and in spite of him, England will become a world power."
"Even if you know the future," Navarre said harshly, "that future could be changed. If Richard dies—"
"Treason!" The cry rang out from the men gathered around the fire until Robin held up his hand to silence them.
"Hear the bastard out," he said, his eyes like shards of ice.
"If Richard dies, the future will be changed," Navarre said. "And you have given us the means to do so."
"Exactly why I must now convince you not to kill him!"
Kendra said, picking up the skirt of her gown and moving toward the two of them. "I don't even know if you can change history, but if it's possible, then Richard's death would set into motion a series of events that would ultimately change the outcome of English history."
"The girl speaks the truth," Magda said, rising and standing beside her. "There is more concerning her own welfare if you would hear it. She must return to her world soon or not return at all. Heed me. You must listen to the words she will speak to you and do not cast her aside in your anger. She speaks the truth."
"So you do conspire with my enemies," Navarre said, feeling the old suspicions seeping back into his mind. "You side with Locksley and their murdering king."
Little John took a step forward, his hand on his sword. Robin stopped him with a gesture, his eyes fixed on Navarre and Kendra.
"I side with history!" Kendra said fervently. "Look, Navarre, I don't know why I was sent here but I do know what is supposed to happen to Richard if the course of time is to continue as it was meant to continue. Besides, if you want John on the throne, can't you take heart in knowing that when Richard dies in 1199, his brother will finally ascend the throne?"
"It is not John I wish to see on the throne of England!" Navarre spat out the words, then whirled to face Robin. "There! I have said the truth, Locksley. My goal is not to place John upon the throne."
"Then who?" Robin demanded. "Yourself? Garrick?"
"Nay." Navarre shook his head slowly. "One whose claim to the throne is undisputed."
"And whom might that be?"
"The barons of England."
Robin blinked, then smiled, then laughed out loud.
"Do you mean to tell me that you want England to be ruled by a handful of men who cannot even govern themselves?"
"They would not hold all the power," Navarre said. "It would be a system wherein there were checks and balances, where no one man could rape England or her people at his whim!" The bitterness overwhelmed him as he spoke the words and suddenly he wanted very much to convince Robin to join his quest.
"And there would be no king?" Robin asked, amused.
"Perhaps a queen," he said enigmatically.
"Eleanor? Aye, she has more sense than all of her sons I grant you, but if you think she will let the barons tell her what to do you are insane."
"She will do what is best for England, of this I am confident."
Robin walked around the circle, his fingers smoothing his short beard thoughtfully. "So this is why the barons are gathering at Nottingham—to overthrow Richard and place themselves in control."
"What of the barons?" Navarre asked apprehensively.
Robin stopped with his back to the knight, then spun around, his blue eyes intense. "Join me, Navarre. Tell me your plans and together we will save England from such as the sheriff of Nottingham."
"Oh, do allow me."
The men whirled, and Navarre stumbled to his feet at the sound of Garrick's voice. The small circle had been surrounded by the sheriff's men, who were armed with spears, swords, and bows. Garrick walked toward the firelight, his black cloak whipping about his thighs, his smooth face filled with triumph.
"Good evening, Sir Robin," the sheriff said as he strode forward, sword in hand. "I do hope I am not interrupting anything of importance."
Robin's sword was in his hand in an instant. "Welcome, dear Sheriff, to my humble home." He bowed and gestured around the circle with one hand. "But, please, let me welcome you properly."
He swung his sword in a high arc and Garrick blocked the move with his own steel, his laughter ringing out across the clearing. With Robin's shout, the battle began.
Navarre struggled against his bonds as a host of men descended on the outlaws and the sound of metal clashing and men shouting filled his ears.
"Kendra!" he shouted against the growing din, dodging first an outlaw's sword and then one of the sheriff's men brandishing a dagger. He butted his head into one's stomach and slammed one boot-clad foot into the other's crotch, wincing himself as the man went down. The light was dim and he had no doubt that Garrick's men might accidentally kill him in the fray.
"Kendra!" he roared again, then felt a small hand on his arm. He looked down into azure eyes and lips curved into a loving smile. How could he have ever thought her evil?
"Be still," she said, turning him away from her. He could feel something slicing into the ropes tying him and in a matter of moments he was free. Without a word he swept her into his arms and carried her out of the clearing
.
"Stay here," Navarre commanded as he deposited her behind a thick clump of bushes. "I'll be back for you." Leaving her sputtering her protest, he headed back for the fight. Picking up a discarded sword, Navarre threw himself into the fray, cutting, parrying, lunging. Men were everywhere, fighting in the dim moonlight. It reminded him of when they took Acre and had fought long into the night against the Saracens. He stumbled to a stop, his sword sagging.
Acre. He had vowed after Acre he would never take a man's life again. In the years since that time, even as custodis pacts, he had not broken that vow. Even though he knew Garrick thought he planned to murder Richard, his true intent was only to incarcerate him. He searched for Garrick through the melee, hoping to put an end to the battle, and could see, across the clearing, that he was still fighting Robin, the outlaw fighting valiantly in spite of the fact that his blood-soaked left arm hung uselessly at his side.
Navarre watched the fight, and suddenly he knew that he could not let the sheriff kill his old friend. Robin might have misguided loyalties but he was a good man, a man who wanted the best for England. He strode forward, dodging falling bodies and flying arrows.
Navarre turned with a roar as the searing pain of a blade sliced into his shoulder from behind. The man still holding the bloody dagger was not an outlaw as he'd supposed, but one of his own men from Nottingham.
"Be you mad, man?" Navarre cried, letting his sword arm drop as his left hand pressed against his right shoulder where the blood flowed freely. "Is it so dark that your eyes cannot see I am your captain?"
The man's black eyes wavered slightly, then his mouth split into a leering grin, exposing ugly, discolored teeth.
"Don't smile at me, man!" Navarre lifted his sword. "Answer me or defend yourself!" The man continued to leer, his sword at his side.
Navarre's breath left him suddenly as a searing pain plunged through his back. He fell to his knees, feeling the steel rammed into his flesh, the blood coursing down his side, soaking through his tunic.
Kendra. She would weep for him, he thought, as dark spots danced before his eyes. His vision blurred, the dark spots surged suddenly together, blinding him, pulling him down into a dark, silent void.
Chapter Eleven
« ^ »
Kendra held Navarre, his blood spilling over her gown, crimson soaking into green. Tears coursed down her cheeks and she cried out in anger and frustration. She hadn't obeyed his instructions to stay hidden but had found a good, hard tree branch to use as a club and had jumped into the fight, swinging with the best of them. She had just cracked one of their assailants across the back of the head when she saw one of the sheriff's men stab Navarre in the back. Now she tried desperately to stanch the flow of blood from his wound with a wadded up piece of cloth torn from her dress.
"Navarre," she whispered, moving to press her lips against his dark hair, her heart aching. "Don't die, Navarre. I promise I'll find some way to help you in your quest if you just won't die."
"Excellent."
Kendra froze at the sound of the sheriff's voice, then slowly turned to face him. He stood, crimson tunic brilliant in the pale light of morning, black cloak whipping around his legs, fists on his hips, triumph in his cold, gray eyes.
"I shall hold you to your promise," he said softly.
Dawn was breaking above the tops of the trees and Kendra saw that the fighting had almost stopped. Robin's men lay scattered across the clearing, into the forest, some of them dead, others moaning from their wounds. She didn't see Little John or Alan or Magda and she hoped against hope that they had escaped.
"Where is Robin?" she asked suddenly, "and Marian?"
"Sir Locksley is alive, never fear," Garrick assured her. "I have bigger plans for him. And Lady Marian is quite well. I promised John that not a hair on her lovely head would be harmed. You, however, are another matter entirely."
Kendra's arms tightened around Navarre as the sheriff took a step toward her. Four men ran up to him just then, their dirty faces looking to him for instruction. He jerked his blond head toward her.
"Take them to Nottingham," he ordered, then smiled as two of the men seized her roughly by the arms and pulled her to her feet. Navarre rolled from her lap to sprawl on the ground.
"Navarre is seriously injured," she cried. "I have medical knowledge, let me help him."
"No doubt," Garrick said, "since you come from an era far removed from our humble time."
Kendra couldn't stop the gasp of fear that escaped her.
"Oh, yes," the sheriff went on, "I overheard the entire story from beginning to end. Quite remarkable."
"You believe me?" Kendra asked, astonished.
Garrick cocked one tawny brow. "Ah, I see. You think me a superstitious barbarian like the rest of these idiots. I may play the part, but never doubt my intelligence. I was reared in Normandy, not England, my dear."
"Then you don't believe in witches?"
His face darkened. "On the contrary, I believe them to be quite real, and quite dangerous. However, I do not believe that you are a witch—believe me, I know the difference—nor do I think a mere woman capable of inventing a story of such incredible proportions." Kendra glared at him and his smile widened. "I was particularly entranced by Magda's words concerning the mighty weapons of your time. But we shall discuss that later. I'm sure you will be very happy to cooperate with me and tell me just how a person goes about journeying through time."
Kendra thought quickly. Apparently Garrick was under the impression that she could teach him how to time travel. If she could use that premise to buy Navarre and herself some time…
"If Navarre dies," Kendra said, tossing her long hair back from her shoulder, "the only thing we'll be discussing is how you plan to kill me, for I'll never help you then."
Garrick's eyes widened. "Ah, so you do care for dear Navarre. I am so glad. He thought you were only toying with him for your own amusement."
"I can't wait to tell Navarre that his dear friend is the one who authorized this slaughter," Kendra said.
"I care not what you tell the bastard," he lifted the hood of his cloak to cover his fair hair against a sudden gust of wind. "De Galliard is no longer vital to my plans. I'm quite happy to leave him here to rot, or hang him from the highest turret of Nottingham Castle."
Kendra blinked. "You mean—" she shook her head. "Why am I surprised? Of course you aren't interested in helping England. You're only interested in helping Garrick."
"Of course," he acknowledged. "And you, too, shall help Garrick."
"Only if you spare Navarre," she said, lifting her chin determinedly. Their gazes locked for a long moment, then Garrick nodded.
"Release her. Let her accompany de Galliard in the cart. When we get to Nottingham, throw them both into the dungeon."
"The tower would be better," she dared to interject as the men untied her ropes and Garrick turned to leave. "It's cleaner, less risk of infection."
The sheriff turned back slowly, his gray eyes boring into her. "Take them to the dungeon," he repeated, "and throw them in." He lifted one finger and shook it under Kendra's nose. "Do not try my patience."
"And don't try mine," she said, clenching her fists at her sides, her heart pounding with suppressed fear. "I have nothing to lose, you know."
"You have everything to lose, and everyone," he said. Reaching out he seized her face suddenly between strong fingers, tilting her chin upward. "I have watched this camp for days. I know you love de Galliard and that you also have affection for Locksley and his men as well. And do not forget Marian."
"You wouldn't dare harm the king's ward."
He chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill through Kendra's blood.
"Wouldn't I?" He relaxed his fingers and slid them down the length of her throat, into the valley between her breasts. Kendra stiffened at his intimate touch, her face flaming red. He laughed again. "Do not think you can buy Navarre's life so cheaply. You will tell me your secret of time travel, aye,
but do not think I have forgotten the business that lies unfinished between us." He caressed the top of her left breast, then dropped his hand back to his side, his gaze never leaving her face. Kendra shivered as the sheriff gestured to one of his men and stepped back, his thin lips twisted in a satisfied smile.
"Take her."
Navarre awoke flat on his stomach to darkness and the sound of men moaning. He blinked, unsure if his dimness of vision was because there was no light or because he could not see. After a moment, relief surged through him as he began to make out images around him. A dozen or more men from the outlaw's camp sat in various stages of prostration and pain. He squinted around, his fingers digging into cold stone and something that smelled suspiciously like dung. With a start, he realized where he was—in the dungeon of Nottingham.
He pushed himself up, then cried out as an excruciating pain sent him back to the hard floor. The sound of quick footsteps hurrying to his side alarmed him and with effort he opened his eyes.
"Don't move," a soft voice said.
Kendra. He smiled and tried to answer, but it was too much effort. He closed his eyes and let the comforting blackness take him away. When Navarre awoke again he had no idea how much time had passed. The pain in his back had eased and his mind felt clearer. Lifting himself warily, he eased to a sitting position, ignoring the sudden stab of fire accompanying his movements.
He looked up and saw her moving toward him, her auburn hair unbound and tangled, her blue eyes wide with a tenderness that pierced him more thoroughly than any dagger ever could. He felt shaky with relief. She had not been taken from him. Garrick had not killed her.
"Navarre," she whispered, sinking down beside him. "You're awake. I thought—" Kendra suddenly burst into tears and threw herself against him, her arms wound around him.
Navarre held her tightly, stroking her hair, confused and disoriented, but still coherent enough to recognize her relief.
"I will not die, my love," he said.
Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 20
