Immortal Outlaw

by Lisa Hendrix

  They rode north and east, hurrying toward the thickest patch of forest in the area. As they entered the edges of the woodlands and had to slow the horses to a walk, Ari unhooked a full wineskin from his saddle horn and passed it across. “I thought you might enjoy this.”

  Steinarr didn’t even bother to answer, but simply pulled the stopper and hoisted the skin to let the wine stream into his mouth.

  Ari watched with amusement. “I’m glad I brought another skin for Torvald.”

  “Me, too,” said Steinarr, coming up for air to swipe his mouth on the back of his hand. “What are you doing here anyway? Is there news of … ? ” He let the witch’s name go unsaid.

  Ari shook his head. “Brand merely asked me to make a round, to see that everyone is well. ’Twas by chance alone that I happened on those two. I was headed toward the crags.”

  “We are no longer there. The lion was seen, and I had to move on.”

  “A shame. Those were good caves.”

  “Aye. I left a sign for you.” Early on, the crew had realized the difficulty of finding each other when circumstances made them move on so often and had set up a way to leave hidden messages pointing toward their next location.

  “Well, then I would have found you eventually. I would ask what you are doing here, but that is clear from the way you look at Maud.”

  “Marian,” corrected Steinarr. “I rescued her and the boy from outlaws a few days ago and she asked me to help them get to Lincoln. I said no, but I—”

  “Changed your mind. I understand. If I had a chance to tumble her, I—”

  “You understand nothing.” Steinarr jammed the plug into the neck of the wineskin and hung it from his saddle horn. “I have been hired to see to the maid’s safety.” He proceeded to tell Ari what had happened in Nottingham, leaving out the bit about Guy’s intentions for Robert le Chape and his own intentions for Marian. But he did mention the treasure—and the money.

  Ari whistled appreciatively. “Ten pounds. A considerable sum for such a simple task.” His smile suddenly vanished. “Too considerable. What does this Sir Guy truly want?”

  “I told you, the maid delivered and the boy diverted.”

  “Diverted, or dead? He wants the boy dead, doesn’t he? ” Ari always had been too quick.

  “He never said that.”

  “Such things are seldom said. Surely you’re not planning to kill the boy.”

  “Only if I must. Oh, stop looking at me that way,” Steinarr said as Ari’s expression turned sour. “It’s not like he’s an innocent in this. He is a thief and a seducer.”

  “So are you. So am I. And Robin is not yet a thief.”

  “He will be if I do not stop him. Besides, Torvald and I need the coin. Everything is wearing out at once.”

  Ari shook his head. “If it is only the money, I can provide what you need. In fact, Brand said to ask you if—”

  “No.”

  “But the land—”

  “We have been over this, Ari. No.”

  Long ago, Ivar, living as the Norman lord Ivo de Vassey, had granted manors within Alnwick to Brand and Ari for the benefit of the entire crew. The lands had passed down by subterfuge, each man in turn stepping forth to present himself as heir when the previous owner “died” in some far-off place. To establish the claim, however, that man had to be able to visit the land, to live there for a time. It was an easy enough thing for most of the others; no one noticed an extra dog or bull or stag or even a wolf wandering the fields and forests. Brand had even managed, despite the bear, but only because of Ivar’s protection.

  But Ivar’s time was long past and Alnwick currently lay in the hands of the king—and the lion prowled more widely and far more quickly than any bear. Steinarr couldn’t do his share to hold the lands, and he refused to accept his share of their profit. He repeated his reasoning once more. “I take only what I earn.”

  “But this is no way to earn it, killing this boy,” Ari protested. “Let Torvald take a turn in Northumberland. He can say he’s Sir Geoffrey’s son … uh, Theobald, returned from the Holy Land where his father died. A horse will blend in even more easily than the rest of us.”

  “’Tis not a matter of me letting him, and you know it,” said Steinarr. Ari had made the same argument many times, and Brand had made it directly to Torvald the last time he’d come around, what, three-score years ago? But Torvald was the only one able or willing to deal with the lion, to stand between the beast and innocent human prey, and he took that charge seriously, knowing firsthand the pain of the beast’s teeth and claws. “He refuses to go. I’ve told him to, but he will have none of it.”

  “He is as stubborn as you.”

  “He is loyal and a good friend. As you are to Brand.”

  “But I leave Brand to fend for himself on occasion, like now. He manages, just as you would. Torvald—”

  “Torvald makes his own decisions, but you are welcome to leave another of your messages for him. Perhaps he will yield this time.”

  Ari muttered something that Steinarr couldn’t hear, but which made the stallion toss his head in irritation. “Does Torvald know what you’re about to do to that boy?”

  “All I’m about to do is stop him from stealing what is not his. Whether he dies is up to him—though it seems I may only have to wait for him to kill himself.”

  Frowning, Ari nodded. “What do you suppose he was doing up that tree anyway? I didn’t ask.”

  “Hunting for treasure, I wager, or at least for clues to it.”

  “Oh.” Ari tilted his head, considering. “I think he found it. And I handed it right to her. Sorry.”

  Steinarr waved off his apology. “You didn’t know. But it makes no difference anyway. They’re going nowhere for the time being. So, are we the first you harry, or have you seen the others already?”

  “I saved you for last this time.” As they rode, Ari quickly ran through where the others were and what they were about, and then he came around to Gunnar, who spent his days as a bull, and amusement made his eyes sparkle. “He was up in north Yorkshire by himself for a time, until a crusty old steward spied him on manor lands. He had him caught, then decided he wanted to turn him from bull to ox on the spot. Apparently Gunnar took out three peasants and the side of a barn getting away. He’s back with Jaffri now.”

  “Decided that living with the wolf wasn’t so bad after all, eh? ”

  “Apparently. They found a dene east of Durham that seems to suit them well enough.”

  “And Brand? ”

  Ari’s grin faded. “Still chasing every hint of magic, light or dark, but as yet to no avail. I left him in Cumberland, tearing down the walls of an abandoned nunnery where it is rumored some treasure was once hidden.”

  “’Tis a waste of time. One as steeped in the dark ways as Cwen would surely avoid Church lands.”

  “Perhaps, but remember it was her men who hid our amulets, not she. They may have thought hiding them on Church lands would protect them. In any case, Brand next wishes to search the chamber where Cwen cursed us once more, to see if we missed anything that might guide us. After I leave you here, I will go to see if there is enough woodland remaining near Odinsbrigga to hide the bear while we do it.”

  “And if there isn’t?”

  “He has his mind set. We will find a way.” They had reached a thick stand of oaks within the woods, and Ari looked around. “Is this far enough for the lion to hunt safely? ”

  “Nearly, but I will go deeper on foot.” Steinarr dismounted and handed the stallion’s reins and the rouncey’s lead to Ari. “Ride toward the Lady Well. Go at least—”

  “At least a mile. I remember. I will meet you back here in the morning.” With a wave, Ari turned the animals west and headed off.

  Steinarr watched him go, then set out toward the east and north. He had run only a little way when he spied a patch of moss the exact color of Marian’s eyes. He smiled and kept going, his mind full of Marian and the pleasures he might enjoy
in the month ahead.

  “ N O ! ”

  The shout woke Matilda from a sound sleep. For a moment, the odd sights and strange press of the wall against her back confounded her, and then Robert cried out again and it all snapped into place: Headon Hall. Broken leg. She scrambled over to the cot where Robert thrashed fitfully with the blanket.

  As she knelt beside him, he flinched and flung his arms out.

  “Ow,” she said as he connected with her jaw. She grabbed at his hands. “Stop it, Robin. Wake up.”

  “Maud?” He clutched at her, his voice high with pain or fear or both. “Why does my leg ache?”

  He sounded feverish, but when she put her hand to his forehead, it was cool. “You fell. Remember? ”

  “Fell? Yes. I was falling just now.” He slurred over the words, thick-tongued from the poppy syrup, and his eyes wandered as if they had come loose in his skull. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fell.”

  “Shh. ’Twas not your fault.” It truly was not. The blame lay with Father. He was the one who’d sent Robert up that tree, goading him from the grave as he had goaded him in life. She stroked his cheek, and he turned his head into her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

  “At least I got it,” he muttered. “What’d it say?”

  God’s knees! He had gotten the riddle, and she’d forgotten all about it. She put her mouth by his ear. “I haven’t read it yet. You were hurt.”

  “Hurt,” echoed Robin, mumbling against her palm. He wrapped his fingers around hers and yawned again, hugely. His eyes fluttered shut. “Sorry … Cannot …”

  “Shh. Go back to sleep. I will stay with you.” Matilda knelt there holding his hand as the lines marring his face eased and his fingers slowly lost their grip on hers.

  When she was sure he slept soundly, she tugged her hand free, quickly found her scrip, and pulled out the little cylinder Sir Ari had handed her. It was dull gray, likely made of tin, and the top was sealed with a drip of heavy red wax. She peeled the wax away with her thumbnail and opened it.

  The little curl of parchment that spilled out was dry from its months or years spent sitting in the tree waiting to be found. She exhaled on it, letting the moisture of her breath soften the hide, then slowly eased it open. It crackled slightly, but hung together, and she shifted over by the single candle they’d been given for the night to read it.

  “Harworth.” That’s all it said: just the single word. Cautiously, then with growing agitation, she turned the parchment over, tilted it, looked at it upside down, and held it up to the candle. No trace of any other words or markings could be seen, not even the thin patches that might mark rubbed-out letters. She shook the cylinder over her hand. A fragment of parchment fluttered out, and hopeful, she checked it, too. It turned out to be only an unmarked corner that had fallen off the larger piece.

  “Father, you treacherous old fox. What have you done?” she whispered. She’d been ready to work through another riddle, but this must be some different sort of puzzle. Clearly, he intended to make them work for this.

  And if she did work it through, then what?

  Between outlaws and oxcarts and broken bones, they’d lost so much time. They had—she counted it off on her fingers just to be certain—two days more than thirty left, and from that two-and-thirty they must reserve time enough for Robert to ride to Edward. A week, at the least, since they didn’t know where he was—and that with a decent horse. Willing as the little mare was, they must get their hands on a better animal. Perhaps they could borrow one.

  But from whom? Not from Headon, surely; the reeve would have no part of it without the steward’s leave, and she’d met the stable master earlier, a most unhelpful sort. She ran through anyone she might know within reach, but only one came to mind: Bartholomew of Grantham.

  She cheered slightly. Grantham lay in the east of Nottinghamshire, so it must be near, and Bartholomew had been besotted with her the whole time they had fostered together. Surely he would lend her an animal. She could come back for Robert and …

  And nothing. Even if she could get to Grantham and Bartholomew were there and she could persuade him to help, Robert could no more ride than he could walk, not for a fortnight or more. A fortnight lost would not leave nearly enough time.

  There must be some way.

  But of course there is a way, a voice whispered in the back of her skull. A way has been put before you. Use it.

  No. Not that. She turned her mind to other solutions, but it was a fool’s effort. Every possibility she lit upon dissolved into naught but shadows, leaving her sitting there in the darkened hall with only the one choice.

  She pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and settled back against the wall, trying to ignore the flutter in her belly that had stirred as soon as she admitted even the possibility, the flutter which had already led her to sin in spirit and which now would see that sin fully consummated.

  Wherever she wanted, he’d said.

  She hoped he was a man of his word.

  CHAPTER 5

  MATILDA LEFT THE hall shortly after dawn, turning over care of the still-sleeping Robin to the collier woman, Edith, and walked out across the fields in the direction they’d gone the day before.

  She soon spotted them riding in. Even from a distance, she knew immediately it was them. The sun set fire to their golden heads, crowning them with light so they looked like angels—especially the new one, Sir Ari, who was as fair a man as ever she’d seen. Give him a pair of wings, she thought as they neared, and he would look at home hovering beside the Virgin.

  Sir Steinarr, on the other hand … His fall from grace showed in every wight of him, from the confidently lazy way he sat his horse, to the wicked grin that quirked his lips as he met her eyes, to the way his thumb stroked back and forth along his reins in mindless sensuality. If he were allowed anywhere near the Virgin, he would surely invite her into his bed.

  The Virgin, of course, would have nothing to do with him, but that was not a choice Matilda could afford to make for herself. The betraying flutter returned, more disturbing for the fact that she was facing its source. Thank the saints she wasn’t feeling his mind right now. And thank the saints she hadn’t ridden the mare out to meet them. It would be good to have her feet on firm ground when she dealt with him.

  “Good day to you, Marian,” called Sir Ari, beating his friend to the greeting. “How is young Robin this morning? ”

  “Easier, I think, my lord, for he slept most peacefully as I left him.”

  Sir Steinarr swung down off his stallion. “What I do not comprehend is why he was in the top of that tree to begin with.”

  “I should think that obvious, my lord. He was climbing it.”

  Chuckling, Sir Ari started to dismount, but Steinarr shot him such a sour look that he settled back into the saddle.

  Sir Steinarr turned back to Matilda. “The question is, why? ”

  “Boys climb,” she said lightly.

  “He’s hardly a boy. And he does not strike me as the climbing sort. But even allowing that he is, why here? And why that tree, when there is a whole forest of trees with sturdier branches within a stone’s cast?”

  “He thought it a challenge. Alas, it proved too much of one.” Uncomfortable with the way he was pressing, she gave him a vague smile, then stepped past him to approach Sir Ari on his horse. She sank into a deep courtesy to the knight. “I wish to offer my thanks once more for your aid, monsire. I do not know what we would have done if you had not appeared to help us.”

  “’Twas nothing,” said Sir Ari. “I just happened along.”

  “As did I,” muttered Steinarr behind her.

  Only because you want to bed me, she thought as she turned to offer him a courtesy, in turn—polite enough, if not quite so deep. “Yes, my lord, you did. And of course you also have my thanks.”

  He nodded slightly. “So, what brings you out so early?”

  Look at him, wearing that cocky smirk as though he already someho
w knew. Bah. She may as well get this over with. “I wish a word with you, my lord. Alone, if you please.”

  Sir Ari looked from her to Steinarr, and a grin spread across his face. “I will go on ahead then. I will see you at the hall, yes? Um, yes.”

  He wheeled around and put his spurs to his fine black, and the animal galloped off toward the hall. As the hoofbeats faded, Steinarr turned to Matilda. “We are alone.”

  She watched after Sir Ari, her brows drawn together. Perhaps she should call him back to see if he would help instead. Perhaps he … But no, she had her help, right here before her, and better the devil she knew at least a little bit. Checking to make sure the wall between her mind and the world was sound, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “You can have me, my lord.”

  Steinarr froze, just for an instant, then his smile faded. “I am not certain I heard you.”

  “You heard me quite well, my lord. You can—how did you put it?—take me whenever you want, so long as you will take me wherever I want. And you can have your pound of silver at the end, to boot.” She fought to keep her voice level so as to give him no sign of what this was costing her. “I accept your bargain, my lord. All I ask is that you do not hurt me when you … that is, when we …” She stuttered to a stop as her courage failed in the face of naming the act.

  In the face of him, with his body so taut it set her in mind of a cat, ready to pounce. He would have no trouble naming it.

  His face had taken on a dark, hungry look. He took a step toward her. “I can have you? That simply? ”

  “That simply, my lord, provided you keep to your word, and take me where I wish to go.”

  “I always keep my word.” Another step. “’Tis a strange vow for a holy pilgrim to make.”

  “My cousin is very ill.” She held her ground, despite how he loomed over her, devouring her with those heated blue eyes with their strange golden centers. It was so tempting, to open up just a little and know what he felt, whether his word was good or not, whether her body was enough to bind him to this task. But no, that would not be wise. “I would hear you say it, my lord. If I am to pay such a high price, I wish to know I will reach my goal.” She offered her hand in pledge. “Your bond as a knight that you will take me all the way to the end.”