He had thrashed like a fish on a hook, raging silently against God and man, dying, when suddenly he felt Robin lifting him back to the fallen box and ripping the knot open that bound the noose around his neck. What followed next was a blur. He remembered Robin shouting, pushing him down, then he saw the outlaw fall, pierced by an arrow. He reached him somehow and managed to wrest his dead weight onto his back, then Little John had appeared and spirited them both away.
Once hidden away, Navarre had removed the arrow from Robin's shoulder and bandaged the wound. Now the outlaw lay sleeping as one dead for the past four hours as Navarre impatiently waited for him to awaken. Kendra and Marian were still in Nottingham and who knew what their fate had been after the condemned men escaped? He could only pray they were all right.
Navarre flexed his fists then knotted them again. Every fiber of his being commanded him to leave Robin, to hie himself back to Nottingham, but he could not. The wound was severe, and if left unattended, Locksley could die. Even if his own conscience would let him leave, which he doubted, his love for Kendra would not. She would hate him for letting Robin die. Robin had saved his life. He was bound to stay with him, trapped in Sherwood, while Kendra could be at Garrick's mercy.
By midnight Robin was burning with fever. Navarre had cleansed the festering wound in his shoulder and bound it, but the outlaw had soon after succumbed to a sweating delirium. Now he lay shivering convulsively and Navarre knew not what else to do. The knight had covered him with everything available, which wasn't much—a cloak Little John had brought, a change of clothing—then moved him as close to the fire as was safely possible. He feared every moment the fire would lead Garrick's men to them, even though he'd built it with green wood, cutting down on the smoke.
Navarre's own wound was beginning to pain him again, as well as the burn around his neck from the hangman's noose, but he ignored both, intent on saving Robin and controlling the mad urge he felt at every moment to fly back to Nottingham to find Kendra. Now, as Robin grew worse, he sighed, and, kneeling beside the outlaw, hesitantly did something he had done only once in the last two years. Crossing himself, he began to pray. The sudden sound of hoofbeats sent the murmured prayers for help from his lips as he peered out of the thicket, drawing the dagger he'd used for Robin's surgery.
Two horses skidded to a stop nearby and, to his astonishment, he saw Marian and Friar Tuck tumble off the backs of the mounts, looking frantically into the thicket.
"Robin!" Marian cried softly, taking a tentative step toward their hiding place. "Navarre! Are you there?"
Navarre sheathed his weapon and parted the thick bushes in front of him, rising to his full height, flexing his back as he did so. He'd not realized how cramped he had been inside the leafy cave.
"What in the name of Christendom are you doing here?" he said, his voice rough but his lips smiling in welcome relief.
"Navarre!" Marian threw herself against him. "Are you all right? Alan-a-Dale told us of this place. He thought Little John might have hidden you here. Is Robin all right? Where is he?"
"Calm down, little one." Navarre hugged her tightly, then pushed her away from him, bending slightly to meet her eyes, his hands on her shoulders. "Where is Kendra?"
Marian's blue eyes clouded. "The sheriff has taken her and Magda to find the wiseman, Cennach. He wants Kendra's power of traveling through time!"
Navarre straightened. "Yes, I know. Thank God the two of you are here. I dared not leave Robin in the condition he is in but—"
With a cry, Marian dove through the bushes behind him and Navarre was left facing the priest, who smiled at him wearily.
"Will he live?" he asked, his hands folded across his tattered brown robe.
"I know not," Navarre confessed. "But now that Marian is here he will have a better chance. She is very skilled in the healing arts. I must go, immediately. Which way did Garrick go?"
"South. But wait, my son. There is something you must know. Little John did not reach the king to warn him. I have brought you his sword."
Navarre stopped in his striding toward the horses and spun back, his gaze flashing down to the weapon in the Friar's hands. "He did not? What happened?"
Tuck's voice rose, his wide brow furrowed with worry.
"Word has come to us that not ten miles from here he was thrown from his horse. He has broken his leg and cannot make the journey. Robin must be told."
"He is in no condition to be told anything."
"Navarre!" The cry came from the thicket, ragged and hoarse.
Navarre and the priest exchanged glances, then headed into the thicket. The knight would not kneel next to Robin as Tuck was doing, but stood over him, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.
"You heard?"
Robin nodded. "Navarre—"
The knight lifted one hand to stop his words. "I know what you ask and I cannot. You know I must ride after Kendra. Marian says she has been taken from Nottingham by the sheriff. Her life is in danger." He started to turn but was stopped by the sheer desperation he saw on Robin's face.
"Navarre, you must."
With a sigh, Navarre dropped to one knee, meeting the man on his level. "Listen to me," he said softly, "you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I love."
"Aye." The outlaw nodded weakly. "But has it not been her quest to make sure Richard lives? This is what Marian has told me. And I will send men after the sheriff and Kendra." He reached one hand out weakly and encircled Navarre's wrist. "You must save Richard—and England."
"If the sheriff learns the secret of time travel there will be no England to save," Navarre argued. "Stopping him must take priority. Besides, do you not remember that I am the man who wants to stop Richard? I fear you are delirious."
"You were wrong about Richard, at least insofar as he did not order Talam's death. You turned your back on your king, your friend, without ever giving him even a chance to defend himself. You plotted treason and murder against him."
Navarre swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat and the outlaw covered one of his rough hands with his own and squeezed, his fevered gaze burning up at him.
"But in the dungeon I saw that you are still Navarre de Galliard, knight of the realm. I am giving you this chance to restore your honor. Save Richard, swear your fealty anew to him, and all will be well."
Navarre hesitated, then shook his head. "I do not know if I can."
"I will make sure Kendra is not harmed," Robin said, his fingers biting into Navarre's arm once again.
"She must return to her own time soon and I must be there when she does."
"I will make certain she delays her leaving until you return," Robin promised.
Navarre ran one hand through his hair in frustration. "Magda said the transference between our times must happen soon. I cannot journey to Normandy and beyond and return in time."
"Richard will die if you do not go."
Navarre rose, feeling the knowledge of his duty to the man who had saved his life tighten around his chest. "Send Alan instead," he said, turning away from Robin, his shoulders tense. "Or the friar."
"Does your honor truly mean so little?" Robin pushed himself up on his elbows and began to cough, grimacing as the pain shook him. Then he lay back, spent. "Alan is a minstrel, not a warrior. Tuck is too old and fat. Sorry, Father."
"You only speak the truth my son," Tuck said with a smile.
"I need you, Navarre, your strength, your ability, your sword."
"I doubt I can even lift a sword," Navarre said quietly.
Robin did not answer and the silence stretched tautly between them.
Navarre could not refuse and keep what little honor he had left. Robin knew it. and Navarre cursed the man silently for using that sense of duty against him.
"Very well," he said at last. He turned and saw Marian shrink back from the fire in his gaze, knew the mask of anger now settled there frightened her as it once had frightened Kendra. He did not care. "I shall journey to find Rich
ard and I shall save him. Then my debt to you is paid, Locksley, and our bond, brief as it has been, will once again be broken."
He stalked out of the thicket, toward the horses Marian and Tuck had ridden. With a start, he recognized his own horse, Kamir, outfitted in his familiar black saddle and bridle. Marian must have somehow managed to steal him back from the sheriff. He rushed to the stallion, ashamed at the leap of pure joy he experienced as he smoothed his old friend's mane. Pulling himself weakly into the saddle, he leaned down and patted the horse's neck, then straightened, tossing his hair back from his face, feeling his own strength return as he drew from the strength of the horse beneath him.
"We shall ride, Kamir," he said, staring with unseeing eyes into the forest. "We shall ride like the winds in the deserts of Outremer, and God willing, we shall save the king. But I will not leave her in the hands of Garrick, not for Locksley, not for Richard, not for honor, not for England herself."
Chapter Fifteen
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The sheriff and his entourage crossed yet another river. Each mile covered seemed like a hundred to Kendra. Her horse had been equipped with a sidesaddle at first, but she had protested so violently that Garrick had finally ordered a different saddle placed on the mount. Now she wondered if riding sidesaddle would have been any easier on her posterior. Riding with her skirts hiked up was no picnic either. Goosebumps stood up on her legs like tiny mountains and she shivered constantly both from the cold and from the leering grins the sheriff gave her exposed flesh. She soon resolved that as soon as possible she would beg, borrow or steal a pair of leggings to cover her bareness.
Wearily she tried to endure what seemed sometimes to be an endless pace as they rode, often four or five hours at a time without a break. There was too much time in which to think and Navarre's death rose up before her, sending a tight hand to constrict her heart and undermine her strength. The only thing that kept her going was Magda's prophecy about the baby. The priestess, whether her prediction was true or not, had given her a new reason to live and a strong incentive to find a way back to the twentieth century.
She would return to her own time, find her life there again with her baby. This time she wouldn't be so foolish, she wouldn't risk her life on newspaper stories, she would use her time wisely, make more friends, raise her son. She would relegate this strange and mystical episode in her life to a closed chamber of her heart and mind and never think on it again.
But when their son was older, she would tell him, somehow, of his father, though she wondered how she could make him understand. It would be like telling him a fairy tale and saying it was true.
Now she not only wanted to return to her own time, she was anxious to do so. She had no desire to give birth in the twelfth century and if Magda's prophecies were to be believed, to do so would mean her death. There was still enough of the skeptic in Kendra to doubt the validity of the old woman's words, but if she did that would mean she might not be pregnant either, and that would mean she had lost every part of Navarre forever. It was another week before her cycle was due. Then she would know. Until then, she had to believe Magda spoke the truth. She had to.
According to Magda, during one of their cautiously whispered conferences late at night, Cennach had spent his life studying the strange circles that appeared from time to time in England. He lived secluded in a cavelike dwelling deep within a wooded valley, which the priestess had assured a tired and grumpy Garrick, they would reach that day.
When Kendra had pressed Magda about Cennach, who he was, where he came from, she had grown uncomfortable and would only say that all would be revealed when they arrived at the Wiseman's home. Now, as Kendra rubbed the ache at the base of her spine, she wished it could all be over, whatever lay ahead. Weariness seemed to be settling into her bones like a living entity. She was sick of dirt and filth, sick of dodging arrows and swords, sick of leaping from one harrowing experience to another.
One corner of her mouth curved up ruefully. Wouldn't Uncle Mac love to hear that, she thought. It had taken a trip back in time where she had been thrown in a dungeon, accused of being a witch, almost killed numerous times by crazy knights and sheriffs, to bring her around. She had no greater desire in life now than to live in peace and raise Navarre's child. Her hand crept to her belly as Garrick called out for the caravan to start moving again.
Suppose she couldn't return to her own time, and suppose Magda was wrong and she and her son didn't die in childbirth?
She couldn't imagine letting her child grow up in this backward, archaic time. Not without Navarre. It was one thing to visit medieval England, quite another to raise a family there. True, she had entertained the thought of having a baby with Navarre and staying in the past with him, but now that the fantasy had become a cold reality, she knew she couldn't, certainly not without Navarre. But she might not have a choice. If Cennach couldn't help her return to the twentieth century she was stuck here, doomed to give birth in these primitive conditions. Her throat constricted and Kendra shut her eyes, willing the tears not to flow.
"Old woman!"
Garrick's voice came from in front of them. Magda pulled back on her horse's reins and Kendra followed suit, halting the golden gelding she'd been given to ride. The gold had reminded her of Navarre's eyes and she had wept the first day over its mane when Garrick wasn't looking. She patted the horse's neck, murmuring quiet encouragement as the sheriff thundered back to them and drew his white stallion up a scant few inches away from them.
"How much farther?" he demanded, his blond hair lying flat and oily upon his brow. "Where is this Cennach? I begin to doubt that he even exists. And if I find that he does not—"
"Just over this rise in the valley," Magda said. "But I must go ahead and warn Cennach, so that our welcome may be assured."
"One of the guards will go with you," Garrick said, his horse prancing beneath him, as though he sensed his master's impatience.
Magda shook her head. "If Cennach sees soldiers he will simply disappear, melt away, and we will never find him. I give you my word that I will return. Do you think I would leave Kendra in jeopardy?"
Garrick's gaze swept over the woman, hesitant, evaluating, then at last he waved her on. "Very well. I will allow you a quarter hour's lead and then we will follow. You will return to meet us and show us the way to his dwelling, or I will kill her."
Magda inclined her head, then shot Kendra a look of encouragement before turning her horse in the direction of the rise, and kicking it into a gallop. She disappeared over the top of the hill and Kendra felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. What if the woman didn't come back? What if she simply escaped into the forest, never to be seen again? She swallowed hard, willing the bile in her throat to subside. The caravan moved on, and Kendra's heart began to pound painfully.
The next few moments would decide her fate. Would Magda lead them to Cennach, who could help her return to her own time? And if she did, would the sheriff really allow her to make that journey? Worst of all, would Garrick be able to travel through time to the future, then bring back advanced weapons of war that would make him not simply England's king, but the world's?
Navarre, Navarre! her heart cried, the sorrow piercing her anew. If only you were here you wouldn't let this happen. You would stop Garrick.
After fifteen minutes Garrick gave the signal and they thundered across the English countryside, heath and gorse kicked up beneath the hooves of the horses. In the distance Kendra could see what had, in her time, been waving fields of wheat and barley like those at Avebury, and was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu, as well as a wave of despair. How could she ever hope to return to her own time? Crop circles were anomalies—there was no way anyone could know where one would form next. It was impossible. She was doomed to die giving birth in medieval England.
Cut it out, O'Brien, her stronger, inner voice commanded. Granted, you haven't been in a situation like this before, but you've been in some tough ones. You know about
hygiene, things that could result in a safer childbirth. You'll make it, somehow, and don't forget, Marian is still your friend. If she's okay, she'll help you if you can get back. Richard will return to England and he'll be so grateful that you helped his ward he'll want to reward you.
The thought of King Richard being grateful to someone like her brought an amused smile to Kendra's face. It faded quickly as a shout suddenly rang out. Ahead, Garrick held up one hand for the group to stop and Kendra sighed with relief when she saw the approaching rider was Magda. She pressed her knees into the gelding's side and moved quickly through the entourage of guards and supply wagons to Garrick's side.
"He is here," the old woman said breathlessly, "and he is quite anxious to speak with both of you. He makes one condition—the guards must remain here."
Kendra glanced at Garrick, expecting an angry protest, and was surprised when the sheriff smiled, then threw his head back and laughed, the fine tendrils of short blond hair dancing in the breeze.
"Of course, I am quite capable of protecting myself." He patted his side and Kendra saw the bulge there that meant he still had the gun. There had to be some way to get the pistol away from Garrick, some way to stop his evil plan. Before she could think further, Garrick reached over and grabbed the bit of her horse's bridle, pulling her abruptly after him. They hurried over the last few yards of open country and went into the twisted forest that lay before them.
Chapter Sixteen
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Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 26
