Soon, she promised silently, her hand sliding across her still flat stomach. Soon everything will be all right. Tears filled her eyes again and she blinked them away.
Navarre.
She sent out the message silently.
I need you.
Kendra moved restlessly against Robin's chest, then glanced up at him. He was staring off across the stream, toward Canterbury, his blue eyes hooded.
"Robin?" she whispered.
"Aye?"
"If you knew Marian would die having your baby, and you knew that you could save her by letting her escape to another time and you'd never see her again, would you?"
" 'Tis an answer you know already, milady," Robin said.
"Aye. But what if you could go too? Would you?"
There was a long moment of silence, then Kendra felt Robin's hand slide around her waist and give her a comforting squeeze.
"You forget, Kendra, Navarre knows not of the child. Sleep now, and save your questions for the man who can answer them, for I am not Navarre and whether I would go or not is of no consequence."
Kendra sighed and let one final tear slip down her cheek before hardening her resolve. Robin was right. Only Navarre could answer her questions and only she could guard the child within her. The best way to start was by getting the rest she desperately needed.
"Good night, Robin," she said. "Thank you for being such a good friend, to both of us."
He patted her again. "Sleep, little mother, all will be well on the morrow."
"I hope so, dear outlaw." Kendra's eyes slid shut as another pain rippled through her. "I hope so."
The morning of Richard's coronation dawned clear and bright, but clouds of apprehension followed Navarre de Galliard as he pushed his way through the crowd already gathering in the streets of Canterbury, his broad shoulders demanding passage when other, lesser men would have been turned back by the sheer crush of people.
Although he had feared for the king during the week in which he had searched for him to no avail, Navarre felt fairly sure that Garrick would choose to kill the king in a more public way than by murdering him in his bed. Garrick would take great delight in allowing the king to make his grand promenade in front of his cheering subjects, the conquering hero home after having survived war and incarceration, only to be struck down moments before the crown descended upon his head. Aye, such a scene would give the sheriff a pleasure he would not easily forgo.
Navarre shoved through the crowd, heading for the tall stone wall that directly paralleled the steps of the cathedral. Once there, he scaled the seven-foot rock surface easily, settling himself atop the three-foot-wide vantage point as his mind continued to ponder the sheriffs strategy. He had been in league with a madman, he realized now, as he sat in feigned nonchalance, one knee crooked, one hand dangling casually near his sword; Garrick was a madman whose savage thinking and actions he had seldom questioned. And he should have, aye, he should have.
Navarre ran one hand through his tousled hair and sighed. So compelled had he been to seek revenge upon Richard, he had somehow managed to turn a blind eye and deaf ear to Garrick's excesses. Was he, then, less guilty than the sheriff? He tried to push his guilty thoughts aside as he searched the crowd for a glimpse of the king or Garrick.
He had camped in his now familiar glen again last night, but had not slept. All he could think about was Kendra. Had she already left his world or had she perhaps missed her circle of time? He found himself hoping she had, then dismissed the selfish thought. If she stayed, it must be because she wanted to stay. He would not force her, and he knew, in his heart of hearts, that she would leave him.
Navarre turned his attention back to the crowd. Garrick would be hard to spot, but it was reasonable to assume he would strive to place himself where he would be able to aim his weapon most effectively. If there was only one of the bullet things left in the weapon, Garrick would want to make sure he struck Richard and did not waste his last cylinder of death on some spectator. Navarre could only hope that from his lofty perch there was a chance he could spot the sheriff before the sheriff spotted him. He wore a cloak with a hood pulled over his face, but of course, Garrick would likely do the same.
A huge tree grew behind the wall on which he sat and Navarre moved so that he could lean his back against the broad trunk which butted up barely an inch away from the stone. The wound in his back pierced him suddenly, sharply, but he ignored the pain. As Navarre's gaze scoured the crowd in the street and the places he suspected Garrick might choose for his attempt, he fought to keep his thoughts on Richard and away from Kendra. Suddenly a cheer went up from far down the street and Navarre pulled himself to his feet, one hand on a protruding branch of the tree that spread out over the top of the wall. Gazing down the thoroughfare he could see in the distance the first banner of the king, held high above the crowd, moving toward the cathedral. Instinctively, Navarre knew Garrick would wait until the king reached the steps of the church.
Before he dismounts, Navarre decided, that's when Garrick will strike. He looked around, feeling the minutes ticking away with a dreadful finality. Feeling a moment of sheer panic, he spun around searching the crowd. Where was Garrick? Why had he thought he could find the man in this press of people? Better he had tried to confront the king and warn him directly instead. Nay, he had searched for Richard as well in the days he had been here, to no avail. The king had been kept sequestered away. Now he must do whatever it look, even if it meant delivering himself for arrest in order to warn Richard. But would his warning come in time?
Kendra, Kendra! his mind cried out. I should have listened to you sooner. Now Richard is lost, and my grand sacrifice of leaving you is for naught.
He allowed himself the brief luxury of imagining what it would have been like to spend the rest of his life with her. They could have run away to Ireland or Scotland. He had a little money saved. He could have rented a cottage and a little land and… and what? What would he do in this idyllic new world? Grow turnips? Raise sheep? What?
The cheers intensified and Navarre pulled his thoughts back to the present. Idiot. Fool. He had no future, no life to look forward to. He had thrown away his life, his honor, his allegiance to his king—for good reasons, he still believed—but he had gambled and lost. And he had thrown away Kendra in the name of that same honor he had already destroyed. Mad. He was quite, quite mad. The procession came closer now and Navarre found himself craning his neck to sec the approach of the king.
Suddenly, the monarch came into view: Richard on the back of a prancing white horse, clad in the costume of the Crusade, chain mail armor covered with a split-sided tunic, a crimson cross slashing the front of it. The king smiled and waved at the crowd, his golden-brown beard neatly trimmed, his head covered only with his own natural crown of golden curls, his white teeth flashing down at the peasants cheering him. Navarre felt the thrill pass through the people below him and was amazed that he still felt it himself. This was the Richard he had known, that he remembered so well—Richard the conquerer, the smiling warrior, the hero.
Just then Richard threw his head back and laughed, loud and long. The sound was achingly familiar, and painful to the knight. How, Navarre wondered, did England's absent king find anything to laugh about when his country was on the edge of chaos? Thinking back to all of the long nights around camp-fires when he and Richard had grown so close, the king had laughed away Navarre's concerns for England, always turning the conversation to his interests in Normandy or the Aquitaine.
Suddenly, as he watched the smiling king waving and laughing, Navarre understood. To Richard, England was a second thought, like a bastard child. His first love had always been for Normandy and the Aquitaine, his legitimate heir. England had never been a priority to the king. The thought was sobering, distressing, but at least it helped Navarre understand the man a little better. And yet, was his real first love for any country or just for his own ambition?
Richard's progress was slow, hindered as he wa
s by the crush of the crowd, but the horse he rode managed to prance forward a little farther until he was even with the wall on which Navarre stood. In the center of a wide street, the king was still a good twenty yards away, but from where Navarre stood, if he'd had the magical gun, he could have sent a bullet straight through the heart so lauded for its courage.
"A perfect target," he murmured aloud.
"I quite agree," a cheerful voice above him said.
Navarre spun around. Sitting comfortably, straddling two branches four feet above his head, the Sheriff of Nottingham grinned down at him, his eyes dancing with barely contained delight, Kendra's gun in his hand.
"Wonderful view from up here," he said, "and so private. Pity the leaves weren't a little fuller, but for this time of year you really can't expect more."
Navarre slowly drew his sword from its scabbard, the noise hushed amidst the tumult of the crowd below him. "Come down here, Garrick."
"I think not, old friend. For while you may think the king is a perfect target at this particular time, I prefer to wait for a more, shall we say, dramatic moment in this grand pageant."
Navarre took note of the unnatural brilliance of the man's eyes and his flushed features. Perhaps if Garrick were on the edge of out-and-out madness, as it appeared, he could talk him out of the deed. In spite of himself, in spite of all that had happened, Navarre realized he did not want to kill Garrick.
"Garrick, I can put this blade through your heart before you can draw your sword in time to stop me." The sheriffs smile widened as he turned the barrel of the gun toward Navarre. "That does not frighten me," the knight said. "I know you only have one bullet left and I doubt you want to waste it on me."
"Is that what they are called, bullets? How clever. Your bluff is clever as well. I doubt you are really sure just how many of these magical arrows of death are left to me."
Navarre frowned. Garrick was right. Kendra had tried to recall exactly how many bullets had been fired, but of course, there was no real way to know.
"You cannot hope to get away with this," Navarre said softly, glancing down at the street, trying to keep track of where Richard's procession was. Still a good way from the steps of the cathedral. It was there the sheriff would kill him, he knew, just before he entered the cathedral.
"Of course I shall get away with it." Garrick said, his tone amused. "No one will see me and even if they did, it would only appear that I was watching the return of our majestic Lionheart with the rest of the anxious people of England."
"If you kill him you will be caught," Navarre said, gauging the distance between them, wondering if he could kill the man before he could fire the gun.
"He will still be dead." Garrick squinted one eye and peered down the gun barrel at Navarre. "Besides, I have arranged a surprise for you. You are the one destined to be blamed. I have it all arranged."
"The barons will listen to me," Navarre said, his voice sounding unconvincing even to himself.
Garrick laughed, the sound swallowed up by the sudden increase of the noise in the crowd below. "What will you tell them, old friend? That a woman from the future brought a weapon back with her and I used it to murder Richard while sitting idlely in the top of a tree, a good twenty yards away from him?" His pale eyes narrowed. "I encourage you to do so."
"I will tell them you plotted against him," Navarre said.
"Save your breath," Garrick said softly. "As soon as I kill the king I will shimmy down this tree and grab the first person I find, asking frantically what happened to Richard. Thus I will establish the fact that I was nowhere near the king when he was killed."
Slowly the sheriff used his thumb to pull a movable part of the metal on the weapon backward. Cocking it, Kendra had called it, the thing which had to be done before the gun would fire. Navarre had grilled her thoroughly about the weapon during their grim stay in the dungeon.
Garrick's once handsome face seemed pale and puffy in the bright sunlight and it seemed new lines had been etched into his usually flawless skin almost overnight. For a moment, Navarre saw something shift behind the man's eyes and when he spoke, it was almost with the old camaraderie from their days in Outremer.
"It is not your death I want, Navarre," he said softly, and the knight noted the man's hand was trembling. "It is his. He who has wronged us both. Now, put away your sword. Let me do what must be done."
Kendra clutched the edges of her crude cloak together and shifted her bag to a more comfortable spot on her shoulder as she tried to see over the heads of the people pressing against her and Robin. She had awakened to find the pain completely gone. After a hearty breakfast that Robin had prepared, she had felt once again like her old self. She was grateful that her panic of the night before had been a false alarm. She had been afraid her episode would slow them down in their pursuit of Navarre, but she had been able to ride with no further problems. Now she and Robin stood in the heart of Canterbury waiting for the king to arrive for his coronation, and it seemed that all of Richard's tallest subjects in the kingdom had chosen to stand in the area directly in front of her.
"Do you see any sign of Navarre?" she said to Robin who, even at six feet, was having obvious difficulty.
"I cannot see anything except this reeking tide of unwashed humanity," he said with a grimace. "This is hopeless, we—look out!" he jerked her backward just in time to keep her from being stepped on by a horse whose master had mistakenly thought to use the beast in order to gel closer to the king. They had left their own horses in a public livery, both a little nervous at the thought of their only means of escape being so far away from their immediate positions.
"I'm all right," Kendra reassured him. "I know, boost me up so I can see above the crowd." After a couple of false starts, and against Robin's better judgment, at last the outlaw bent down and allowed her to straddle his shoulders. He stood, balancing her around his neck, his fingers biting into her knees, grunting as she struggled for a toehold against his ribs.
"This is not right," he said between clenched teeth. "A lady should not—"
"Haven't you discovered yet that I'm not a lady. Robin, dear?" Kendra said, unable to keep from teasing him. "Since when do ladies dress like serfs, ride a horse like a man and climb on outlaws' backs so they can get a better view of the king?"
"Since never," Robin grumbled beneath her, "and why do I continue to be surprised by your—Watch your feet will you?" He shifted her foot out of his face. "Just be careful. Remember last night."
Kendra didn't answer. Across the street, Navarre stood atop the stone wall, staring up into the branches of a tall tree growing behind the wall, sword in hand. He stood like a man frozen, and even from this distance, Kendra could tell something was terribly wrong. He was gazing up into the branches of the tree, his face pale and drawn, then she saw his lips move and realized he was speaking to someone in the tree. Suddenly he swore—she could tell by the all too familiar way he ducked his head and spat a word out angrily, though she couldn't hear him over the throng between them. He sheathed his sword and all at once she knew with a surety what was happening.
"Let me down!" she cried, her shout absorbed by the teeming voices around them. Robin knelt down, gratefully, and she slipped from her perch to the ground. "It's him!" She grabbed the outlaw's arm and pointed in the direction of the wall. "It's Navarre! You can't see but Navarre is on top of that wall and Garrick is in the tree above him."
"I can cut a path to him," Robin said, reaching for his sword. Kendra stopped him, one hand over his.
"No, you mustn't. It looks as though perhaps Navarre is stalling him, or else the sheriff is waiting until Richard reaches a more prominent position. If we draw Garrick's attention he may not wait any longer, or he could turn the gun on Navarre."
" 'Tis true." Robin said, his hand falling back to his side, his handsome face twisted with frustration.
Kendra's gaze scanned the crowd. Richard had paused now, not too far from the wall. This would be an ideal time for Garri
ck to make his move. She had to do something, but what?
Think, O'Brien, think!
What could she do? How could she reach Navarre and help him and how could she help him if she couldn't reach him? She gazed up at the sky, searching for divine guidance or messages from Mars, wishing the intelligence that had brought her to the past would deign to give her an idea, a plan, anything that would help her save Navarre and the king. Nothing came. No brainwave from outer space, no sudden burst of genius. There was nothing above but the blue sky and the graceful arched branches of the huge trees on either side of the road with the sunlight bursting through them in sporadic flashes of warmth.
Kendra smiled. "Listen," she said, turning to Robin, "you try and reach the king. Pull him off his horse, do whatever it takes to make him less of a target." She patted him on the shoulder and started moving away from him.
"What are you going to do?"
"Never mind." Robin didn't budge and she widened her eyes in exasperation. "Have you got a better suggestion?"
The outlaw shook his head. "All right, but I have a feeling Navarre and Marian are both going to have my head this time."
Chapter Twenty
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With one last hesitant glance in her direction, Robin stepped into the crowd and disappeared. Kendra continued to inch her way down the street, her back pressed against buildings lining the roadway. At last she reached her destination: the foot of a huge oak tree. Its branches stretched up almost as high as the spectacular monument to God called Canterbury Cathedral. There were several of the trees that grew straight and tall, then three-fourths of the way up, near the top, began to bow. Through some quirk of nature, the top branches had grown together with the branches of the tree across the road to form a leafy archway. Directly across from where Kendra was now standing was the tree in which Garrick was hiding. She could conceivably climb up her tree to the top, then use the enter-twined branches to reach the other side, and, using the strategy of surprise, stop Garrick.
Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 32
