by Lisa Hendrix
Steinarr saw to his horse, then came back to break his fast. He brought his bread and ale to sit near Matilda—close enough that his presence set her blood humming, but not so close that Robin or anyone else should notice, and they made pleasant conversation for a little while before he summoned Will Scathelocke and went off with him to work with the other men.
Matilda quickly fell back into the rhythm of the camp, doing the simple chores Edith gave her, then going off with Ivetta that afternoon to pick the last of the brambleber-ries. The patch Ivetta chose lay in the same direction as the birch, and as they picked, the tree’s soaring crown held Matilda’s attention. She wandered a bit, and before long she found herself standing beneath its branches, staring at the place she’d given herself to Steinarr the day before, aching to do it again.
What was it about this man that made her surrender so utterly and happily to lust, with so little regard to past or future? She’d given up everything she’d ever been taught, by her mother, by her father, by the Church, for a few hours with a man who told her outright he would never give her more, a man who refused to pass so much as a single night with her.
And she wasn’t sorry.
They would leave in another day or so, racing with Robin back to Newstead, and there would be no more time for each other on the return than there had been coming here. Then they would find the token and the king and it would be over, just like that. Steinarr would not be bound to her any longer, and whether they succeeded or not, she would have to go to wife—if not to Baldwin, then to someone else—and that man would learn, even if no one else ever did, what she had done.
And still she wasn’t sorry.
Her only regret came from the knowledge that the time was coming when he would ride away, when she would never be able to touch him again, mind or body. That alone made a lump form behind her breastbone, solid and heavy as stone, a lump not of regret but of loneliness, as deep as she’d ever felt within him. Only this loneliness would be hers, and she would carry it for the rest of her life.
“He’s a strange one.”
Matilda turned to find Ivetta standing in the sun just beyond, her basket of berries on her hip. “What?”
“That Sir Steinarr. I was saying, he and Sir Ari are strange ones. The way they go off each night and turn up again in the morning.”
“I suppose.” Matilda came back out in the sun and they started toward camp.
“Did Sir Steinarr do that while you were on your journey?”
Matilda nodded.
“And left you alone in the woods each night?”
“He found good shelter for me each night. And a friend traveled with us to stand watch against wolves and outlaws.”
“That is a comfort, at the least. I worried for you, going off with him like that, and Robin was in a state, too.” Ivetta spotted a cluster of fat berries on a nearby bush and veered off the path to pick them. “What is it you sought? I mean, I overheard—not of a purpose, but I heard, still. I know you seek something for Robin.”
“ ‘Tis a token he needs to claim his father’s land, a small gold piece that was hidden away. We must find it in time for Robin to prove the land is his to inherit.”
“Gold, eh? Lucky lad,” said Ivetta, but her interest seemed to flag. They picked a little longer before she asked, “Why do you suppose they go? At night, I mean.”
“Sir Steinarr has bad dreams. Violent ones. He does not wish to harm anyone, so he sleeps far from people.”
“I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Nor I. But I have seen many things since Robin and I left our home that I had not heard of before.”
“Still … are you certain he tells the truth?”
“He has no reason to lie.”
“If I were you, I would want to know,” mused Ivetta. “He could be doing anything at night. He could be off wenching, as Sir Ari does in Retford. You would want to know if he goes off wenching, would you not?”
“I … It is not my business.”
“Of course it is. You care for him. Perhaps you have even been lying with him … Ah. Ah! Look at that blush. You have, haven’t you?” Ivetta laughed, delighted. “Maid no more, you are. Maid no more.”
Matilda ducked her head, trying to hide her blazing cheeks.
“Do not be ashamed. Many of us are not maids the night we go to bride, though more often than not it is the groom who has done the job.” Ivetta’s hearty laugh took away some of the embarrassment. “Do you hope to marry Sir Steinarr?”
The question, so bluntly and unexpectedly asked, made Matilda catch her breath. She shook her head. “It is not possible.”
“All sorts of things are possible. The question is, do you want to? Do you choose him? Do you love him?”
Whatever her arguments to Will, choice in love was for peasants, not noblewomen. Her lot, her duty, was to marry where she was told, to seal alliances and meld fortunes and produce heirs. Taking the veil, marrying Osbert, those were choices, not of love but of avoidance. But choose love? She hadn’t considered it. She had not allowed her mind turn to Steinarr beyond the moment. But now that Ivetta pressed, there was no doubt. “Yes, I have come to love him.”
“And he loves you?”
Matilda reached back into her memory for what she’d felt yesterday as they joined, and she nodded. “I think so. Yes.”
“Then something must be done.” Ivetta’s face set in determination, and there was a strange, dark glint in her eyes that Matilda had never noticed before. “The first thing is to see for certain what he is about each night. Whether ’tis really nightmares that keep him from you or something else.”
“And if it is foul dreams?”
“He cannot hide from them—the mæres find you, wherever you lay your head. But you can keep them away. They do not dare lie upon a man when he is held in the arms of a beloved.”
Perhaps especially if that beloved—was she his beloved?—held the ability to join with his mind and soothe him. “But how, when he will not stay?”
“You must go after him. Follow him into the woods and spy to see what it is he does. If it truly is the mæres, you can go to lie with him, and show him that your love is strong enough to keep their evil at bay. Aye, you must go after him and pass the night at his side.”
“But everyone will … Robin will … They will know.”
“Aye, they will. That is the price. You must decide if it is worth the shame. If he is worth the shame.” Ivetta peered at her basket and picked off a few leaves and stems that had mixed in, then checked Matilda’s. “I think we have enough. ’Tis time to return.”
They once more started back, heading toward the ring of axes and the scrape of saw blades which marked where the men were working bare-chested in the warm afternoon sun. Steinarr worked among them, handling one end of a long saw, at the other end of which stood Osbert. They were sectioning out the yard-thick trunk of a downed tree, each man’s muscles straining in turn as they hauled the blade back and forth. The collier glanced up, saw Matilda, and smiled in that hopeful way of his, and that caught Steinarr’s attention. He turned, grinning, his chest slick with sweat, his hair plastered to his head, and sawdust clinging to every inch of him. He was filthy. And he took her breath away.
“Aye, a hard decision, that,” muttered Ivetta, and Matilda knew that there was no decision at all.
Tonight, one way or the other, she would know the truth about him.
And, she resolved, so would he know the truth about her.
HANDS ON HIPS, Ivetta stood turning circles by the fire. “Now where is it? Marian, have you seen the dipper?”
“No.”
“I wonder if Goda took it. Would you mind looking? She was playing behind the far hut. See if she left it there.”
“Of course.” Marian set aside the basket of nuts she was shelling and went off to hunt down Goda and the ladle. She’d barely reached the corner of the first hut when a strong hand grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her between th
e huts. Steinarr’s lips came down over hers in a searing kiss as his free hand swept over her hip and up to cup her breast.
With a groan, she pulled away. “Someone will see.”
He dragged her around to the back, where Goda was supposed to have left the dipper, then backed her against the wall and kissed her again, more gently but just as thoroughly. “Better?”
“Yes.” She ran her fingers into his hair and pulled him down to kiss him back. “How are you so clean? The others came back still covered with sawdust.”
“Bathed.” Kiss. “Stream.” Another, deeper, as his hands wandered unhampered by the need to restrain her. “All I had to do was see you this afternoon, and I wanted you—though unlike you, I did not seek my own pleasure while washing.”
Her cheeks flamed. “You will not let me forget.”
“Why should you forget when I cannot?” He put his lips by her ear. “I want to watch you take yourself all the way.”
“Nnn.” Desire sparked through her and settled between her legs. If he were to make her do it now, she would be crying out in moments. “You are the very devil.”
“That will be only the beginning. Next I will use my mouth to pleasure you again. And only then will I take you, but you must tell me how. Something else you saw in that loft that you want to try.”
“Ah, God’s knees.” She gripped him by the ears and pulled his head back. “Stop it lest you have me looking to Osbert for relief.”
He pulled his head back to look at her quite seriously. “I would have to kill him.”
“ ‘Twould hardly be fair when ’tis your fault for filling my head with such thoughts. I must go. Ivetta—”
“Ivetta sent you back here to me. The dipper was in her hand, hidden in her skirts.” He pushed her headrail aside, found a favorite spot just below her ear, and ran his tongue over it until she shivered.
“Nnn. Even so, I cannot stay.”
“Then just a kiss. Or two. Or three.” He took them as he counted them out, then stole another before he released her. “Now tame that too-broad smile and go. I will come anon, and none will be the wiser but Ivetta.”
Matilda rubbed the corners of her mouth to erase the foolish smile, straightened her headrail, and went back, trying to look innocent. “I am sorry, Ivetta. I could not find it or Goda.”
“I know. Foolish me, ’twas right here before my eyes.” Ivetta waved the dipper and shot her a wink and a smile.
A few moments later, Steinarr strode into camp from the opposite side of the clearing, from the same direction the other men had come a little earlier. As he passed a group of the youngest children playing, Goda popped up—she’d been there all along, no doubt—to demand something of him. To Matilda’s surprise, he squatted, let Goda clamber up on his shoulders, and pickabacked her over toward the huts at a trot. His face was neutral, except for his eyes, which sparkled with mischief as he passed Matilda. “Good day, Maid Marian.”
“Good day, my lord,” she answered, ignoring Will Scathelocke’s suddenly avid attention. She made a pretty courtesy to Goda. “And good day to you, my lady Godiva. Have you enjoyed a pleasant ride? I see you chose to wear your clothes today.”
“Ladies do not ride naked,” said Goda, giggling. “More, Sir Horse. And faster now.”
Steinarr did two circuits of the huts at a gallop, then dropped her off near Ivetta, who sent her to fetch two bowls. “Hurry now, Sir Steinarr and Sir Ari must leave soon.” She gave Matilda a significant look.
Steinarr didn’t notice. “How is our young Robin today?”
“Much better, my lord,” piped up Robin. “I sat up most of the day, and I walked the whole circle of the glade.”
“With or without the splint?” asked Ari as he came over, tailed by Will.
“With. But I went to the privy without it. And see?” He carefully bent his knee back and forth. “I am already less stiff. I will be good to ride tomorrow.”
“You have the leg,” agreed Steinarr. “But do you have the strength? ’Tis one thing to sit a stool, another to sit a horse.”
“He is a good rider, my lord,” said Matilda.
“That is not the question. He’s been overbled. Will you last out the day?”
“I will. And I will keep up with you, especially if you carry Marian behind.”
“Marian is not going.”
“What! Of course I am going.”
Steinarr shook his head. “It will be too dangerous. By now Guy has figured out I am not bringing you back. He may even suspect I have changed my allegiance.”
“If I were he, I would be set on keeping Robin from reaching the king,” said Ari.
“He will surely have his own men on the roads by now,” said Steinarr. “Baldwin may even be involved, searching for you. It is far too dangerous.”
“I am going,” she said stubbornly.
“What if I need her to solve a riddle?” asked Robin. “I am a poor reader in French or English, and my Latin is little better. And I cannot cipher at all.”
“Ari reads.”
“Not Latin,” said Ari.
“You see?” said Robin. “I need her.”
Steinarr glared at Robin. “You would put her at risk for the sake of your fortune?”
“Of course not but—”
“I am at greater risk if he fails, and you know it,” interrupted Matilda. “Or do you wish to see me in Baldwin’s bed? I must go to help.”
“No,” said Steinarr. “We will fare fine without you.”
“And how will I fare? When you all ride off, who is to keep Baldwin or Guy from finding this camp and carrying me away?”
“Will Scathelocke.”
“One man, whom we barely know?”
“One man you barely knew is all you had for the last month,” said Steinarr.
“But it was you, not Will,” she protested.
“Hey!” said Will, offended. “I fought for King Edward in Wales.”
“Your pardon, Will, but I have not seen you fight. I want a sword I know to defend me. Besides, if I go, I will have all of you to guard me.”
“And you would need every man, because you would be riding into the midst of trouble. Here no one knows where you are. Here you are safe.” Steinarr folded his arms across his chest. “And here you are staying.”
“Sir Ari, tell him …”
Ari shook his head. “He is right. You are better off here.”
“Bah.”
“I will guard you with my very life, fair Maid Marian,” vowed Will. “Even from the sheriff himself.”
“Oh, shut up, Will,” she said, and turned and stalked away to the fire, where she picked up the never-missing dipper and started stirring the pottage.
“Gently. You will turn it to mash,” said Ivetta.
“I would turn him to mash.”
Shaking her head, Ivetta took away the ladle and dipped out two bowls. She sliced off thick pieces of venison to lay across each bowl, then handed both to Goda. “Do you have the spoons? There’s a girl. Now take it to them and be careful.”
“Yes, Ivetta.”
Ivetta watched her go, then turned to Matilda. “I could hear you argue, but I could not hear the words.”
“He will not let me go to help my own bro—” Matilda stopped, realizing she was about to give too much away. “My own cousin. He says ’tis too dangerous.”
“ ‘Tis only proof he cares for you,” said Ivetta, smiling happily.
“Aye, he cares. He cares so much that he would leave me behind.” Matilda watched Steinarr and Ari set into the food, hurrying in preparation for going off for the night. “ ‘Twould be better for Robin if he cared less.”
“That token could be anywhere,” said Ivetta. “Why do you think you can find it when the others cannot?”
“I have no such conceit. But if they do need me and I am not there, Robin may lose all.”
“Ah, well.” Ivetta used a pothook to lift the lid on the big pot where a berry tart baked among the coals
. “This is doing well.” She dropped the lid back and raked the coals back into place. “Perhaps you can convince him tonight, when you go to him.”
“I am not going.”
“But you must. They ride tomorrow and you will lose your chance.”
“I am too angry. I am much inclined to let the mæres have him and laugh while they do.”
“That would not be good. That would not be good at all.” Ivetta shook her head, clucking disapproval at Marian. “The mæres are not to be mocked. They can lie so hard on a man that they press the breath out of him and leave him dead. Or they can steal his mind and make him mad as a hare. Clearly, they bedevil Sir Steinarr worse than most. Angry or not, if you care for him, you will go.”
“I will think on it,” she said peevishly.
“Think quickly, girl, for they take their leave.” Ivetta tipped her head toward the pair, who were already handing their bowls to Goda. Ari whistled to Goda’s brother, Much, who led their horses out from the pen, and with a few quick farewells, they were gone.
Matilda stood for barely a heartbeat, then dashed for the pen. She grabbed the mare’s bridle, slipped the bit in her mouth, quickly fastened the buckles, and led her out.
“Help me mount,” she told Much, and the snap of command in her voice made him do so without question.
“Where are you going?” hollered Robin. “Maud? ”
“Ask Ivetta,” she shouted and turned the mare down the path.
“ IVETTA?” ROBIN TURNED toward the fire, his face a mask of concern and anger. “Do you know where she goes?”
“She goes to find out where he vanishes to each night,” she told him honestly.
“Why?”
“Because she must. I told her she must.”
“You, but—”
“Calm yourself, boy. There is nothing you can do now. By morning, all will be settled, and you will know, too.”
“Know what?”
“Why he leaves.” Ivetta smiled. “Are you hungry? Of course you are. Someone get the lad a big slice of that meat. I need a moment to myself.”
She left as if going to the privy, but as soon as she was out of sight, she veered away, heading into the deep woods.
