Laura Strickland - The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy

by Champion of Sherwood

  I love you.

  She twined her legs more tightly around him and shouted victoriously in her mind. Aye, and perhaps this was the real reason she had been born. And he, despite the fire she could feel rising inside him, hesitated one moment more before he flexed his strong back and surged more fully into her. The pain came then, in one blinding flash, and flew away into the night.

  Like music building and burgeoning, they began to move together without question, she rocking in his lap and he hollering with wonder into her mind. Overhead, the wind rose and the trees tossed more wildly. Magic seemed to flare in the darkness, but Linnet cared for nothing save the man she held so fast to her heart.

  No longer could she tell where her body ended and his began, no longer separate his thoughts from her own. His strength was her strength and her will his will. She could not distinguish whose pleasure it was that built into a wild storm, as elevated as the night itself and as powerful as a conflagration. But when the storm broke with an intensity that racked both of them, when he flooded her with his essence, she knew she had been wanting this all her life without knowing and was, at last, complete.

  Then, still joined, he laid her down on the moss, in his arms, and they held to each other like two near-drowned souls returned miraculously to life. Above and all around them the night continued to sing its beautiful song. Leaves rustled and insects buzzed and fluttered as if eager to witness a miracle.

  But Linnet knew the true miracle had occurred inside her.

  Breathless and nearly thoughtless, she ran her hands over the beauty of him, smooth muscle under supple skin. All sense seemed seared from her. She knew only that she could not let him go.

  He stirred in her arms, stroked her hair and her cheek, and kissed her softly. He whispered into her mind, Did I hurt you?

  She laughed again, in joy. A small price.

  I do not want this to end.

  Please, let it never end.

  The silence around them deepened, the wind began to calm as if it had been called up by their stirred passion. Linnet concentrated on the sensation of him, still inside her—a blessed claiming.

  Moments passed, and their heartbeats slowed in unison.

  He marveled, You said you loved me.

  Aye.

  Yet you barely know me. And I am enemy to all you hold dear.

  I know you. Part of me has always known you.

  I must leave you and go to Nottingham.

  Do not speak of that now. The pain that convulsed Linnet at the thought of parting hurt far more than any that had come before. How can we be parted, in truth, when so surely joined?

  I cherish this gift you have given me. He brushed his lips across her lips in a gentle caress. His fingers slid up her side and once more cupped her breast. Know that even in Nottingham, I swear I will never do aught to bring you harm. I know how your life is set. In her mind, his voice broke with emotion. I know what duty calls you. But I confess I cannot bear the thought of you bonding, as you may, with Falcon.

  Linnet drew a breath. Falcon and I are already bonded, aye. It cannot be otherwise. But ’twill never be like this. Light exploded again in her mind. Never like this. The guardianship is a duty laid upon me. You, I choose. She brushed her lips across his in turn, for the sheer wonder of it. You are all I choose.

  Will you have to wed with him, lie with him—like this? Linnet felt protest race through him, and realized how acutely she could now sense all his emotions.

  Nothing could ever be like this.

  That is no answer.

  One of us, either Lark or I, will wed with him and bear his child, Sherwood’s child.

  Let it be Lark!

  He wants me. He always has. It seemed Linnet could hide nothing from Gareth now. Her mind, like her body, lay utterly open to him.

  You are mine, beautiful Linnet. Possession flared within him. Promise me he shall not have you, not like this.

  A sigh breathed through her as she considered the impossibility of it. I wish I could make that promise. How can I? Her fingers caressed his face. But I will make you another: you alone will hold my spirit, and you alone will hold my heart. Is it enough?

  Aye. Nay. An instant with you keeps me from starving. An instant with you only makes me want more.

  If we are to have but this one night, I pray Sherwood makes it a long one. Endless.

  She wrapped her arms tight around him, marveling at the depth of their connection. He was hers for this moment and for all time—no matter if they became separated physically.

  His hand tensed on her breast and she felt him quicken inside her. Instantly she came alight, her passion igniting from his without resistance. It felt as if the blood that pounded through his veins flowed also to hers. She imagined his lips at her breast and, instantly, he bent his head to suckle her. The fire flared into a conflagration bright enough to consume her soul.

  Delight taking hold in every part of her, she began to move her body beneath his. And she could feel his pleasure as intensely as her own, the way he lost all his breath when her inner muscles clenched around the hard length of him. She felt the softness of her own flesh within his mouth, the hard nub of her peaked nipple against his tongue, and knew even how the scent of her affected him.

  I want all of you, she sang into his mind. Enough to last the rest of my life, if need be.

  I give all of myself to you. And there, in the singing darkness, he did, again and again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Linnet. Gareth awoke with the taste of her still on his lips and her name still in his mind. Do not leave me.

  Ardently, he spoke to the woman he held in his arms, she who had now become the center of his life. Only, when he opened his eyes to the morning light, his arms were empty. Like the bird after which she was called, she had flown.

  Protest swamped him, closely followed by dismay and regret so strong it flared like pain. Before he opened his eyes, he would have sworn he could still feel her lying against him, her hand curled in his and her breath brushing his face. Now the memory faded like an echo, leaving only his rumpled clothing and the cold light seeping in.

  Aye, and the woman who stood over him, glaring: Wren.

  “Get up,” she ordered, and prodded him—not gently—with her toe.

  Speared by the look in her eyes, he moved quickly while his thoughts struggled to decipher what had and had not happened during the night. Might he have dreamed it all? If so, sweet, merciful saints, what a dream! But no, for his leggings gaped open and his chest was bare. He distinctly remembered Linnet’s hands splayed against his chest, and the feel of them sliding around to caress his back even as he came into her sweet warmth.

  Still more vividly did he remember her fingers at work on the laces that tied the front of his leggings. She had freed him and wrapped her fingers around him. The lingering, wild pleasure of it still made him tingle.

  Now her mother loomed above him like an angry, vengeful goddess with murder on her mind. Did she suspect what had taken place here last night under cover of the darkness? They had kept very silent, saving all words to exchange only between their minds.

  He struggled up and then tied his fly shut with deliberate fingers. Those of his left hand felt stiff and sore, but they did the job. To be truthful, his whole body felt the effects of his exertions last night—some more than others.

  He looked Wren in the eye. “Where is Linnet?”

  “Gone.”

  His heart sank sickeningly, and he bent his head so his hair partially shielded his face. Could he bear it?

  Viciously, Wren added, “She is away where you will see her no more. You are to set out for Nottingham Castle this day.”

  Desperately, he reached for some measure of hope. She might be gone, and without a word, but she had become part of him last night, taken up residence in his heart, vital to him as his own breath. Surely he would see her somewhere along the journey.

  “Has she returned to that village where I was held, Oakha
m?” He could get there somehow. He would crawl there if he must.

  “You listen to me.” Wren stepped up to him. A tall woman, she met him nearly eye to eye, her anger palpable. “What happened here last night had to happen—I have not been told why, though I can guess. But it was bidden and I had to let it occur. That does not mean I must like it.”

  “Bidden? By whom?”

  She made a gesture that encompassed the trees, the light, and the forest itself. “Those who dwell here and whom I follow. But, having had her, do not suppose you shall possess her. She is destined for higher things. She has her place in a guardianship you cannot begin to understand.”

  Gareth, too, glanced around briefly before meeting Wren’s gaze. “Guardianship of the forest, you mean? It is possible others may also become such guardians.”

  The disparagement in her eyes flared. “Do not flatter yourself, Norman whelp. You have no part in this, save for what you played last night.”

  “I love her.” The words burst from him, all truth and defiance. He could no more hold them than halt the blood in his veins.

  She laughed. When she did, she looked very much like the man he had seen among the trees, the one who had bidden him to follow his heart. And he had, oh, he had as never before.

  “Scoff at me as you will. You do not know the future,” he said, still defiant. “You cannot say what will or will not happen.”

  The hard mirth died from her eyes. “I know enough of it. I know what must be. It requires courage and sacrifice.” Completely sober now, she told him, “If you do care for her, let her do as she needs to do, and be what she must be.”

  “And wed Scarface’s son, you mean,” Gareth returned with mounting anger of his own. “Bear his children.”

  For an instant, Wren’s expression became distant, as if she contemplated something she liked not at all. “Whoever’s children she bears, she belongs to Sherwood and not to you. Remember that, de Vavasour.”

  He wetted his lips and thought furiously. Perhaps Sherwood could be persuaded, even if this woman could not. “What if I were to dedicate myself to Sherwood?”

  “For her sake? It requires a calling, complete devotion, a demand bred in the bone. You have not the blood.”

  “So? Even if I was meant to be with her last night?” For it had happened. Now, up on his feet, he felt sure of it. He had bonded with Linnet in a night filled with passion and blessed by the trees around them.

  But, his heart cried, Linnet knew that as well as he, yet she had left his arms, risen, and gone from him.

  How could you? He hollered in his mind.

  And the response came to him, faint and distant, barely heard: Oh my love, my love, my love.

  So stunned was he, so bent on listening, he did not realize Wren had dismissed him. She made a furious gesture that severed the magical bond that tethered him.

  “We leave at once for Oakham, and thence you go to Nottingham.”

  ****

  “Come along.” Sparrow rumbled the command and tugged on the lead once more fastened around Gareth’s neck. His tone, less unkind than Wren’s, nevertheless made it clear he was no happier with Gareth than was his wife.

  Did he, too, know what had taken place last night on the moss bed? As they moved off through the forest, Sparrow balanced the great, twisted staff on his shoulder. Gareth figured one powerful blow from it could smash his skull like an overripe turnip.

  What he could not glean was the measure of Sparrow’s emotion. Unlike his wife’s, his anger did not show in his guarded eyes and calm face. But Gareth could sense some potent feeling simmering below his surface. One thing he did know—he would not wish to sample this man’s ire once he became truly roused.

  They walked out of the forest by trails Gareth could neither see nor apprehend. Wren led the way and Sparrow followed, dragging Gareth’s halter, while the morning strengthened around them, birds fluttered and glinted like jewels among the branches of the ancient trees, and the remnants of last night’s music flitted through Gareth’s mind.

  He had been offered neither food nor water, and he barely cared. He thought only of the fact that Wren had said they were bound to Oakham and thence to Nottingham. Would he have a chance to see Linnet in the village? He could endure anything for hope of that.

  Are you there? Deliberately, he formed the words in his mind and sent them forth, struggling with an ability that had seemed so natural just last night, had flowed between them effortlessly. All the while they lay together, they had communicated so. He might have believed the ability needed their touch to endure, had he not heard her voice, albeit faintly, this morning.

  He shaped the thoughts, clarified them, and made another attempt. Linnet, can you hear me?

  Sparrow, just ahead of him, twitched so the staff bounced on his shoulder, and Wren turned her head. Could they hear? By all that was holy, he hoped not.

  Gareth, my dear love.

  The breath caught inside him, and his heart clenched and then sped. Ah, but she sounded so far away, so impossibly distant. Beginning to sweat with the effort, he reached for her again. Where are you, beloved? There, he had said it: beloved, his love—the word that had held no meaning for him since his mother died, and that had been born in him again last night. Linnet was all about love, her touch and the warmth of her, her scent, and the tenderness of her spirit, which, like her body, he had embraced and held. He would follow that anywhere, no matter how far.

  Oakham, I am in Oakham.

  His joy surged. Wren’s head jerked again, but she did not glare at him this time. Yet surely Linnet felt the intensity of his gladness? Good. We come to Oakham.

  I will not see you.

  What?

  I cannot. I was sent ahead to prepare the party that will take you to Nottingham and ransom Falcon. But I will not see you here.

  His dismay arose, strong as his previous joy. Still struggling and fumbling to reach her, he grieved, Is it because you do not wish to see me? Had she fled him? Had she realized, and been unable to accept, she had lain with an enemy? The thought turned him sick inside.

  No, no, no, no— She came to him more strongly, almost like a wisp of music on the breeze. I want naught more than to be with you.

  And I live only to be with you, he told her truthfully.

  But it is best this way, Gareth, my love.

  Best?

  ’Twould hurt more for us to see each other again.

  Nothing could hurt more than this.

  A clean break is best.

  Why must we break at all?

  Because, love, you go to Nottingham. My place is in Sherwood.

  We can change that, I can change it. I can be—

  You can be what? You are a Norman knight, proven and sworn. You are the King’s champion.

  I am sworn, now, to you.

  What of your vows? What of mine? What is their worth if we do not hold to them?

  I promised to be yours, always.

  And you will be. For will we not always be able to touch each other in thought?

  Gareth distinctly felt his heart seize in his chest and then break into jagged pieces. It is not enough.

  It must be, my love. It is all I am able to offer you.

  I will find a way—He screamed it to her, another vow. But she had slipped from his mind and he received no reply.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I understand that you are unhappy, Daughter. But it is time to put childish things away from you and take up the burden of your life.”

  The harsh words caught Linnet and spun her around. She glared into her mother’s eyes, for once wholly unbowed and defiant. She believed she had accepted her duties following her one precious night of passion with Gareth de Vavasour. Had she not already told him so along the sacred pathways between their minds? But watching the party intended to escort him to Nottingham leave Oakham this day without seeing the man at all—for he and Sparrow had waited off in the forest—had seared her soul.

  Now s
he returned Wren’s glare in full. “Do you speak to me of duty, and accuse me of childishness, Ma? When have I ever been a child? I was forced to grow up long ago. I half raised Lark, and Fal as well.” She drew a breath. “You know what took place in the forest last night.”

  Wren gave a hard nod, not liking it.

  “That had little of childhood about it either. I am a woman, and I know what lies before me despite—”

  Despite the fact that if she closed her eyes she could still feel Gareth’s hands upon her, the calluses on his palms abrading her flesh, setting her alight. If she let herself, she could feel him penetrating her, and catch his heady scent.

  And she could feel him battering at her mind, steady and relentless. She had managed to close the door that shut him out, but the effort of keeping it closed cost her dear. She feared she would not succeed long.

  “Have you, then, decided to accept Falcon upon his return?” her mother asked sharply.

  “I did not say that. I am willing to take my place in the circle, since I understand the vital importance of it. Is that not enough? And have you considered what should happen if the Sheriff does not keep his word and Fal fails to return?”

  Wren drew a sharp breath. “If that happens, Daughter, we are undone. It will be a slow death, aye, but sure. The magic that dwells in Sherwood will fade; the forest will shrink in upon itself and die, and our hope of freedom with it. We will lose all ability to fight, and we will become slaves indeed.”

  “Some of us are slaves already,” Linnet retorted. “I do not feel free.”

  Her mother’s glare softened a bit. “We are all ultimately free in Sherwood, which is why we must guard it and preserve all who dwell here in flesh or spirit. It is a holy trust.”

  “That I have always understood. I have said I am willing to act as I must.” Linnet’s gaze dropped as she listened to the pain in her heart. “Just do not expect me to rejoice in it.”

  ****

  “Lin!” The joy in Falcon’s voice caught at her and caused her to reach for him, in response. A full day and a half had they waited for the return of the party from Nottingham with the ransomed headmen. Now, at midafternoon on a day that wept rain like tears, they came at last.