Laura Strickland - The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy

by Champion of Sherwood

  Aye, and this might well be their last chance to talk together of anything at all.

  His hand brushed her arm in a deliberate caress before he captured her fingers and tugged her down onto the moss.

  “Pray, can you tell me of these beliefs that mean so much to you?”

  Amazed, she searched his eyes but saw there no deception. “If you wish. How best to begin? Our faith is all about life,” she told him softly. “That which stirs in the rabbit’s heart in spring, that which causes the sapling to bud, and which quickens in a new mother’s womb with her child.” She laid her hand lightly against his scarred cheek. “It is what makes the flesh knit anew and what sleeps beneath the winter snow. It is about everything always and always coming again, an eternal circle with no end in death. It is about claiming, and belonging.” She drew a breath and her eyes met his. “It is about love.”

  His fingers came up and covered hers, which rested still against his face. “And all that is founded here, in Sherwood?”

  “Sherwood is a haven for it. Since the first folk came here, long ago, when all of England was forest, strong magic has gathered at this place, born of their belief. It gave them identity and worth, as it does us, still. So long as the forest is protected, so is our strength and our freedom.” She added deliberately, “Freedom even in the face of Norman tyranny, for there are things that cannot reach here—at least so long as the guardianship holds and endures.”

  “Guardianship,” he repeated doubtfully, and his clear eyes met hers. “Aye, you spoke of that before. And you say you are one of these guardians—you, with your sister and Falcon.”

  “We are the next three—four, if you count the forest itself, for it is a living being—to take up the burden and the privilege. It cannot be denied, you see, not for any cost.” Her eyes filled with tears. “No matter how I might wish.”

  “And do you so wish?” He bent his head towards hers. For an instant she was sure he would kiss her and all her being strained toward him. But instead he spoke, his warm breath coursing across her lips. “Am I to leave you here to your privilege and your duty? You expect me to walk away?”

  “Surely you always knew you must. There is no other hope for it.” Despite appearances, he was still a Norman knight. “Do you not long to be away out of your captivity?”

  “Aye, so a part of me does. But part of me—” He closed his eyes and turned his face into her hand. “Part of me longs even so to stay, if that be my only means, ever, of seeing you.”

  Linnet’s heart—treacherous heart!—bounded in perilous victory. Overhead, the trees swayed softly. High up in a bough, a bird sang a song so sweet it fell on her ear like pain. Life was all pain, it suddenly seemed, and all impossible beauty.

  “You will soon forget about me, in Nottingham,” she proposed softly. “No doubt your stay here will seem no more than a dream.”

  “You are a dream,” he whispered. “But…I to forget you? Never!” Gently, he took her hand from his face and pressed a kiss into her palm. An act of devotion it might have been, did she not know better. She shivered with longing.

  Huskily, she said, “Once back in your world, it will be easy for you to use all you have learned against us. I do not doubt the Sheriff would be eager to know of the power he might gain by destroying the triad. I am a fool—I have made us vulnerable.”

  “You think I could ever do aught to bring harm to you?” He reached out, swiftly now, and his fingers tangled in her hair. Strong and warm, they cupped the back of her head, and desire speared through her like a bolt of fire. She leaned toward him, lips and soul both questing.

  Their mouths met almost tentatively and then fused avidly, with sudden, consuming need. Reality came apart at the seams, torn asunder with an inevitability that rivaled that of life itself. The fire leaped, and wild desire, once unleashed, promised never to be contained again.

  I am a practical woman, Linnet thought even as her spirit surged up through her body to reach for his. I like my house orderly and my life tidy, but there is no order or sanity in this, and no holding it, either. Better try to hold a spark ignited in dry straw. For, from the first moment I saw him, I had no hope of preventing this.

  A sigh came from him and he drew her hard into his arms, even as all Linnet’s senses took flight. He tasted of the first wild berries of summer, warm and sweet, and he affected her like a draught of strong mead. Surely all her life she had been living for this.

  Aye, and never had she lain with any man, though many had tried—Falcon in particular. But she knew instinctively how it would be with this man.

  Even as his tongue caressed hers, wooing, and then plunged into her mouth, so would his body pierce hers in glorious claiming, demanding nothing more than she longed to give.

  Kiss me once more, Linnet—please, kiss me again, he begged, and the words curled into her, a whisper not of speech but of knowing, spirit to spirit, that she heard only in her mind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Linnet, Linnet. Gareth’s entire body sang her name. Had there ever been a more beautiful word? So dazed was he, so drunk with the glorious pleasure of touching her at last, it took him precious moments to realize that, his mouth being so sweetly engaged, he spoke the words only in his mind. Kiss me.

  And she heard. What kind of miracle was this? He could not tell, only that she responded, wound her arms about his neck and pressed her mouth to his again. Aye, Gareth, kiss me. Oh, please, touch me.

  Her voice—or an echo of it—fluttered in his mind like the soft rustle of birds’ wings. It vibrated there the way desire for her vibrated through the rest of him. He could sense all of her in every part of his body, admittedly some more than others.

  He knew just where she wanted him to touch her, and his hand moved to her breast as if she guided it. Ah, God, that he might always obey her so! For she was the sweetest thing ever he had tasted, better even than he had dreamed. He might lose himself in her completely, and never rue the loss.

  Her bodice made only a thin covering over her breasts. Her flesh burned beneath it and the softness scorched his hand. He explored with wondering fingers, half wild with delight, found the hard nub of a nipple and teased it with his thumb.

  Her pleasure exploded in his mind, wild and exalting, and further inflamed him. He knew not what this was, how came this intense connection, but it went straight to his head. Ah, and does that bring you pleasure? Since his mouth remained fused to hers, his tongue yearning to fill her, he must have asked that in his head also.

  She wiggled in response and, catching the essence of her desire, he pushed the thin fabric of her bodice down so that one perfect breast spilled into his hand. Her delight blossomed still more strongly in his mind and traveled through his flesh. It pooled between his legs and turned him hard instantly.

  More, she sobbed into his mind.

  He did not hesitate nor even stop to wonder where her parents were, or what they might do to him if they arrived now. Instead he stopped kissing her long enough to gaze into the fathomless darkness of her eyes, and then freed her other breast and bent his head to run his lips over it.

  Her entire body jerked in response. His followed, as the demand of the flesh screamed through him. He spent one dazed moment admiring her perfection—rosy ripe and now bared to the light—before he caught her between his lips and traced her deliciously with his tongue.

  Sweet merciful savior, had he ever held anything more intoxicating in his mouth? Greed and desire flooded him in equal measures. He could never get enough of her, but, aye, he would gladly give his life to try.

  Her hands, warm and still carrying that tingle of healing, left his neck to cup his face. She arched into him and sang to his mind even as he suckled her.

  Oh, please, please, do not stop.

  Nothing loathe, he made a wet trail with his mouth from the first to her second breast and felt her pleasure spike again. Her pulse raced, and his kept time with it. He did not know what madness this was that let him feel her
emotions along with his own, fair strong enough to kill him. Nor had he ever known he could play a woman’s body like a beautiful instrument, but he knew now he would gladly die in her arms.

  Take me, she begged in his mind.

  I cannot. A lie, for he knew he could as easily as breathing. Not here. Not now.

  She drew his head up from her breast and looked again into his eyes. What he saw in her gaze stole all the breath in his body. You must. I must. Nearly incoherent, the words tumbled into his mind even though her lips, ruby red from his kisses, did not move. I cannot live if I do not have you.

  I know. Desire of the flesh was one thing and, he believed, could be denied. This was not mere desire of the flesh—it reached to the depth of his soul with its demand. But your parents—

  As if conjured by his mention of them, he heard a call.

  “Linnet!” Her mother’s voice, surely—the last Gareth wished to hear at this moment, though he suspected her father could break him apart with his bare hands. Wren’s all-seeing gaze intimidated him, and he could not imagine trying to explain away this scene.

  Linnet gasped and freed herself from his grasp. Her naked breasts hung like two tantalizing treasures, still wet from the ministrations of his mouth. Gareth once more lost all immediate hope of sanity.

  “By the Green Man’s horns, I must go.” She tucked herself back into her bodice, looking all at once flustered, and bit her reddened lips. These words were the first to issue from her lips since first their mouths had met.

  She scrambled to her feet and then took a breathless moment to lean down and kiss him once more full on the mouth. His blood leaped wildly, but before he could reach for her, she slipped away. He sat with his head bent, fighting the pain in his groin and the hole in his soul, wondering what, by all the holy saints, had just happened to him.

  Before he could begin to make sense of it, the echo of her voice floated back into his mind. I will return to you tonight. Await me.

  And how could this be, this wonderful, silent communication? What magic that let him hear her thoughts, and let her catch his? Was it part of the wild claiming that had passed between them when their lips met, or something far more? And how could it feel so natural for him to accept her into his head, and his spirit?

  Was this thing born of the magic of this place, that had knit his bones together, and had let him see a man long dead transform into a hart? And, oh, would she truly return to him this night?

  By God, could he survive that long without her?

  ****

  “How does that arm feel? Move those fingers for me.” The abrupt demand, issued above Gareth’s head, came from Wren and jerked Gareth’s head up.

  The afternoon had passed in a warm lull of droning insects. No one had come near him until now; he figured their conference and decision-making had stretched long, but he heard a curt decisiveness now in Wren’s tone.

  She did not look happy, and when he met her eyes they were sharp as flint.

  Where was Linnet? His heart sped at the very thought of her. He hoped they had not already sent her back to the village and away from him. But no, even as he asked the question he saw her enter the clearing with her father.

  “Is there pain?”

  With a grimace he wiggled his fingers. “Not as much as before.” Pain he could endure. It was the inexplicable occurrences that bothered him.

  Far from being pleased, Wren scowled. “’Twill have to do.”

  He ventured a question. “Has a decision been made?”

  “Aye.” She raked him with those curious, golden eyes, the way she might look at a rodent she found in her stewpot. “I have heard more advice concerning you, this day, than I care to recount.”

  “Concerning me?” Surprise touched him. But how could he continue to feel surprised? This place was, all in all, like a mad dream.

  She bent down and wagged a finger in his face. He sensed, then, just how angry she was, furious. “I do not like it one bit. But the spirits are insistent. Me, I would be happier slitting your throat.”

  Startled, Gareth held her gaze; he believed her completely.

  “But,” she added bitterly, “there are and always have been matters far greater than my desires. Destiny is destiny. We need to get Falcon back, so you will be sent to Nottingham.”

  “When?”

  She closed her eyes a moment as if listening to an inner voice—a thing he could no longer doubt. “On the morrow.”

  And Linnet? He wondered, but dared not ask. Would she be sent back to the village at once? He looked past Wren to where he could now see both Linnet and her father moving about the camp.

  Would she, as promised, be free to come to him tonight? How could he even contemplate such madness with her mother glowering over him and her father nearly within reach? Ah, but the fire in his blood assured he could.

  Almost as if she, too, could hear his thoughts, Wren reached down and grasped him by the chin.

  “Listen to me, young man. I know not what you are, and I like not your presence in our lives. I have been assured of your importance and I must let this thing play out. But if you ever hurt my daughter or bring to her any harm, deliberate or otherwise, it shall be that much the worse for you. Understand?”

  Gently, he drew back from her cruel grip and looked once more into her eyes. “Mistress, I understand very little of what has happened since I came to this place,” he told her truthfully. “But you can believe of me one thing—I will never seek to harm Linnet.”

  Wren straightened. “Aye, Norman, just see you do not.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Beautiful Linnet, I have no wish to hurt you.

  Did Gareth de Vavasour say those words aloud or whisper them only to Linnet’s mind? She could not tell, and she was not willing to hold back long enough to find out.

  The night surrounded them, warm and quiet but for a restless wind that tossed the high branches of the trees, deep and dark. Linnet had waited, with impatience dancing through her like fever, until she believed her parents slept. Only then had she spoken a prayer and tiptoed across the clearing to the place where Gareth lay.

  Now she could barely see him but, oh, she could feel him. It seemed as if every part of him called to her, spirit and flesh. She had never wanted anything as she wanted this man.

  You cannot hurt me, she told him, save by denying me.

  He made a curious sound deep in his throat, and she felt his desire come at her out of the darkness, tangible as fire. I have strength for many things, but not to deny you.

  Still she could not tell if he spoke aloud or not. She barely cared. Standing above him, she began to shed her clothes and the warm night air caressed her flesh as they fell away, and heightened her desire. When nothing but her hair clothed her, she dropped, eager, into his arms.

  He gasped. His hands came up and he touched her like a man in a dream, first the hair streaming loose down her back, then the skin of her back itself, and around to breast and thigh. With fingers that trembled, she touched him in return, her hand splayed against the warmth that lay inside his opened tunic.

  When he caught his breath again and began to speak, she bade him, Hush. Her mouth, on his, stopped his words effectively even though she still did not know if they sounded only in her mind.

  Linnet.

  Nay, of course they did not speak aloud. But she knew her name possessed his every thought, and its utterance sang through her, even though their mouths fused with heat.

  Wait, he begged.

  She was not sure she could. How wait for air? For water, when dying? She needed his touch, needed him inside her where no other man had ever been.

  Why do you hesitate? she asked, and bit his lip.

  He sobbed in response. She could feel him shaking with need and put her hands to work on his clothing while never leaving go contact with his mouth.

  What is it? Do you not want me?

  His only reply came as an incredulous laugh. His hands explored her naked flesh,
serving as his eyes in the dark. But he said into her mind, I do not understand. How is this? How can we speak without uttering words? Tell me.

  Magic. She breathed the word into him. It is all magic. Everything about Sherwood and those it chooses.

  So we are able to hear each other, mind to mind?

  And heart to heart. Think of it as a gift given in love.

  And I am able to feel you, all of you—

  She could feel him too, in a way that both daunted her and inflamed her senses. She could barely wait to complete the connection between them. So, my fine champion, she whispered on a note of daring, are you fit for the task before you?

  Linnet, are you certain? She felt what it cost him to ask, and loved him for it. Aye, she loved him, loved him, loved him.

  Gareth, I have been given very few choices in my life—almost none. My course was laid before ever I was born. Let me at least choose this.

  You have never yet lain with any man?

  Never.

  And he repeated, I have no wish to hurt you.

  She laughed. The forest conspires to this, Gareth. The very trees do, and the breath of the air. The night’s darkness assures it. Do you think I will let so small a thing as an instant’s pain keep us apart?

  Her fingers succeeded—at last!—in loosening the front of his leggings. He surged out at her, strong and proud, and she curled her fingers around him in delight.

  His entire body jerked. Ah, sweet heaven!

  Kiss me, she bade, but they were already kissing. Linnet wound her arms about his neck and shifted herself closer in his arms. Even as she felt his tongue invade her mouth, yearning, she wrapped her naked legs about his waist and lowered herself down upon him, a willing and joyful sacrifice. And, oh, he filled her as she had never thought to be filled, seared into her with welcome heat, taking up a space it seemed she had always kept for him and answering an emptiness she had not even suspected she harbored.