by Lisa Hendrix
And that’s when she felt it: the tremor that she’d been waiting for all these days. She searched the chapel and spied two white-hooded monks slipping into place at the back of the crowd. How had she never noticed the smooth way his limbs flowed when he walked? Like a cat. She tried to stay calm, but she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as relief flooded her body. Relief and desire and longing, not all hers. He raised his head, just enough to meet her eyes from beneath the hood.
And then suddenly an arrow of black and white feathers shrieked through the open door and struck at Steinarr’s head, raking the hood back just as every man turned toward the noise.
“You!” said Gervase de Clifton. “Block the door. Arrest that man.”
Steinarr and Ari threw aside the monks’ robes and reached for their swords, but the screaming bird skimmed past Steinarr’s head again, then veered toward Ari’s face, claws out. Ari threw his hand up just in time, and the bird tore into his palm, beating and tearing at him as though possessed by a demon. With a shout, he snatched the bird out of midair and flung it aside.
In the heartbeat they were distracted, the sheriff’s men acted. The door slammed shut and a dozen men encircled them, weapons raised. The bird circled over their heads, cackling like a mad thing.
“Hold!” shouted Edward over the tumult. “You arrest men in a Holy Church and during a royal ceremony? Explain yourself, my lord Sheriff.”
“My apologies, Your Grace, but one of these men killed Sir Guy de Gisburne.” The sheriff strode toward the front of the church, signaling his men. As the magpie sailed up into the vault of the church to perch, four sturdy men dragged Steinarr and Ari forward and forced them to their knees at the king’s feet. Matilda started forward, but Robert stopped her with a warning look.
The sheriff grabbed Steinarr by the hair to force his head back. “This is the man known as la Roche. He killed Sir Guy, then escaped us through the woods.”
“Alas, I did not, Your Grace,” said Steinarr. “That is, I did lead the sheriff and his men on a merry chase, but I did not kill Gisburne, as often as I planned to.”
“Planning murder may be a sin, but ’tis no crime,” said the king. “No more than planning a marriage is the same as tupping your wife.”
The priest flushed, but Friar Tuck laughed aloud, along with most of the rest of the watching crowd.
“And it happens,” said Edward, “that I know who did kill Gisburne, for he has already confessed to me.”
De Clifton’s face darkened. “And who is that, Your Grace?”
“Me,” said Robin clearly. “I killed him.”
“Then seize him,” ordered the sheriff once more, and his men surged forward.
The king held up a finger, and everyone froze once more. “Hear his story first, before you act.”
Robert stepped forward, his limp still obvious, but his head high. “My cousin, Guy, was intent on stopping me from completing the task the king and my lord father set me. He attacked, and when my companions beat back his men, he took my sister as hostage. So I fought him and, in the fight, killed him.”
“But you brought the hue and cry against La Roche!” said the sheriff.
“To make you ride past, so I could reach the king.”
“I told him to do it, my lord,” said Steinarr. “Since you were the one who set me to help Sir Guy to stop Robin, er, Lord Robert, I feared you were also working to keep him from the king.”
“Eh? I had not heard this part of the tale.” Edward frowned at the sheriff, who paled. “I will have your explanation of this later, de Clifton, and it had better be satisfactory if you wish to stay sheriff. Can any man here speak to the truth of Lord Robert’s story?”
“I am no man, Your Grace,” said Matilda, “but it is the truth.” Will and Tuck spoke up to agree.
“She is his sister,” protested the sheriff. “And they are his men. They would support him, truth or not.”
“I am neither his sister nor his man, and ’tis still truth.” The steward from the manor stepped forward. “Your pardon, Your Grace. I saw the other knight launch the attack and then wield the lady as shield in his cowardice. The boy … his lordship, that is, attacked in her defense, and the other knight died in a fair fight. But these same knights did damage to my lord’s house here in Edwinstowe. They hacked away the golden comet you gave my lady, Your Grace. I would seek recompense on my lord’s behalf.”
“Um.” Edward flushed slightly. “That would be ours to repair. I fear we helped set our new young lord on that path and left him little choice in it. Repairs will be made at our expense. So, where were we?” He rubbed his hands together, savoring the moment. “Lord Robert, I pardon you in the death of Sir Guy and declare it due to Guy’s own misadventure. Sir Stee—”
“Steinarr.”
“Sir Steinarr.” Edward pronounced it carefully, then frowned. “Are you one of our knights?”
“No, Your Grace. A knight, but not yet of England.”
“Are you willing to become one?”
“ ‘Twould be my honor, Your Grace.”
“Well, then, you are also pardoned, though I am not certain of what. Leave him be, de Clifton.”
The sheriff glared down at Steinarr, but nodded and released his hair. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“What about you?” Edward asked Ari. “Who are you?”
“Sir Ari, Your Grace.” Also freed, he wrapped his hand in the hem of his chainse to staunch the bleeding where the bird had torn his hand open.
“And what have you done?”
“Helped raise the false hue and cry. And helped Steinarr elude the sheriff.”
“Pardoned. Is someone recording all this?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said a scribe, glancing up from the wax tablet where he was scratching madly. “I will have the proper documents drawn up for your seal.”
“Good. I am feeling most generous this morning. Is there anything else?”
Matilda, who had been watching with a mix of concern and bemusement, saw her chance. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I have a boon to ask, Your Grace.”
Edward turned, smiling. “And what would that be, fair Matilda of Huntingdon.”
“I would like you to order that knight”—she pointed at Steinarr—“to marry me.”
“Marian, no!” Steinarr shot to his feet. “You know I cannot.”
She ignored him and spoke directly to the king. “He seduced me to lie with him with false promises, and then he rode away. I am ruined, and I wish justice.”
“As do I, her brother,” said Robin.
Steinarr gaped at them, stunned. By the gods, she had Robin in on this, and he didn’t even know about the curse. “Marian, do not do this.”
“Who is this Marian?” Edward looked from her to Steinarr.
“He called me that as we lay together, Your Grace. ’Tis a sort of eke name.”
The church echoed with laughter. Gossip would fly for years, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care, and she wanted to marry him, and Steinarr stood there with his blood racing so loudly it sounded in his ears like the lion’s roar.
“Is this true, monsire?” asked the king.
Steinarr slowly nodded. “Aye. It is, Your Grace.”
“So you admit you seduced her?”
“Aye, but I cannot marry her, Your Grace, much as I do care for her.”
“Why not? Are you already married?”
Steinarr hesitated, knowing he could lie and say yes and end this. And yet Marian’s eyes begged him not to. He felt himself sliding into the green, into the solace of her mind’s touch. “No.”
“Are you sworn to the Church as monk or priest?”
“No, Your Grace, but I—”
“Are you kin to her, within the sixth degree?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Then there is no impediment. You will say vows to her. Now. Before us all. That is my command as king.”
Marian stepped forward and held out h
er hand. “ ‘Tis all right,” she whispered. “All will be well.”
And so Steinarr found himself standing before the king of England, stumbling over the words to take Matilda Fitzwalter for wife. A dream. It was a dream and a nightmare and a prayer all mixed up together. He would not let his eyes leave hers, for fear that it would all turn to smoke and ash.
Then it was her turn. “I, Matilda, do take you, Steinarr Fitzburger, as my husband and my lord, to have and hold, in sickness or health, for as long as we both shall live.”
“A ring, monsire?” said the priest.
“I … I have none. I have nothing. Marian, are you certain of this?”
“ ‘Tis too late.” Her smile brimmed with confidence and mischief. “You have already taken me. They all heard you.”
Laughing, King Edward twisted a ring off his little finger and handed it to Steinarr. “This will do. A gift to you, for which I expect you to do homage to the crown of England.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Still holding her eyes, he slipped the heavy band on her finger. “With this ring I do wed thee and make thee mine.” Mine. My mate. Now. The lion stirred, and Marian’s eyes widened in recognition.
“So, it is done. Lord Robert, I trust that you will see this knight is well situated to care for your lady sister.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I have lands in mind already.”
“As do I. Gisburne has no heir and his estates need a new lord. But I will deal with that later as well. Now, we hunt. I have heard of a great beast seen to the north, toward the crags. Some sort of cat, I am told. I wish to seek it out.”
Steinarr looked up, startled. Him. The king was hunting him and didn’t even know it. A laugh rose up from his belly, and he had to bite his tongue to hold it back. At his side, the corner of Marian’s eyes twinkled, and she pressed her lips together tightly and squeezed his hand.
The buzz of gossip and excitement carried the barons toward the door, Edward with them. “Are you coming, Lord Robert?”
“Anon, Your Grace. I would have a word with Sir Steinarr in private.”
“As you wish. You, too, Father. Let them speak.”
It took a few moments for the church to clear. The last two out were Friar Tuck and Will, who pulled the door firmly shut behind them, clearly following orders from Robert.
“You are mad,” said Steinarr to Marian. “You know what I am.”
“Aye. I do. And so does Robert.”
“I told him,” said Ari. “He needed to know.”
“You were willing to give up your one chance to be healed of this terrible curse for my sake,” said Robert.
Steinarr’s eyes locked on Marian’s fingers, curled into his, a king’s ring on her finger marking her as his. “I told her I would. It was yours, Robin. My lord.”
“No. I only borrowed it for a little.” Robert opened a purse at his waist and pulled out a round planchet of gold. “In truth, it is yours.”
A furious screech overhead made them look up just as the magpie swooped past one last time before it vanished out the open arch of the bell tower.
“Crazy bird,” said Robert and turned back to Steinarr.
IMPOTENT TO STOP what was about to happen and unwilling to watch it, Cwen sailed out into the sun.
I am a fool, she thought as she flew back toward the cave where her body lay waiting. The mention of gold had made her dismiss too easily the possibility that the token was the lion’s amulet, and now one more of them had the chance to slip through her grasp without the satisfaction of vengeance.
And yet she felt strangely well as she soared over the forest, stronger than she had in years, even in this delicate creature’s body. She skimmed the treetops, reveling in the freedom of flight, hers in this strange gift from the gods.
It wasn’t until she reached the cave and slipped back into her own body that she understood why she felt so strong.
Blood.
In her rage, the bird must have torn the seer’s hand open, for his undiluted blood, rich with his life force and magic, streaked the creature’s breast, thick over the same place her own wound was.
“You have brought me a gift, magpie.” She put her hand out and the bird willingly hopped up onto her finger. Cwen stroked the fine feathers, gathering the clotting blood onto her finger. “My thanks, little one.”
She let the bird flutter away, then opened her gown and spread the blood over her wound. Warmth slowly spread out from the place that had been cold so long. She drew in a sharp breath and let it out on a sigh.
Yes. She threw her head back as power flowed back into her, sweet and rich, and she felt herself begin to heal at last. The raven had no idea what he possessed, what power the gods would grant him if he only had the courage to ask. No, he was too frightened of it.
She was not frightened. She was Cwen. If he wouldn’t use the power, she would.
There were, after all, seven of them left. They would all pay, especially the bear. And now that she shared this blood link with the raven, she could use him to help.
With a smile, she turned toward the little magpie, sitting on a nearby stone. Chortling softly, the bird met her black eyes with its own. Cwen tapped her shoulder, and the bird flew up to take its place as her familiar.
“Come, my pet.” She stepped out into the sun and drew in the clean forest air. “We must find ourselves a new home. I tire of being a nun.”
STEINARR STARED AT the gold-encrusted lion in Robert’s hand, not comprehending. “You had to give that to the king.”
“I had only to present it to him. Not give it. He handed it back in nearly the same moment.”
“But I thought …”
“I know. I thought he would keep it, too, but he said it is Huntington’s. And now it is yours.” Robert pressed the planchet into Steinarr’s hand and curled Marian’s fingers around both. “As is my sister’s heart.”
Odin, please. “Is it?” he asked Marian, uncertain of anything beyond his own fear of the answer. “Do I have your heart, even knowing what I am?”
“Even knowing what you are.” She lifted the planchet and pressed the lion to the center of his chest. “I do love you.”
Pain ripped through Steinarr, like the changing but worse, a thousand times worse, and he felt the lion claw its way up. “Run.”
But they stayed, Ari and Robert and, most of all, Marian. He arched back and forward, fell to his knees, screamed his pain, and she stayed with him. Fury, hunger, the need to kill, mate, hunt, it all spun out of him in ropes of black smoke that looped around his chest, squeezed the air from his lungs, strangled him.
“I love you,” she repeated, tears choking her voice. More pain hammered him to the ground. A scream tore from his throat and rose into a roar.
And then it was gone, silent, and he was alone in his body. He shook, terrible wracking spasms, like tertian fever. Marian wrapped her arms around him, those wondrous arms that would be his forevermore, except not forever, but just for one glorious lifetime full of nights.
“ ‘Tis all right,” she whispered a long time later as the shaking finally stopped. “ ’Tis all right.”
And thank the gods, it finally, truly was.
Epilogue
“AND SO ROBIN Hood took Maid Marian by the hand and asked her to be his wife. And with the king’s leave, they were wed that very day on the step of Saint Mary’s Church in fair Edwinstowe before Will Scarlet and Friar Tuck. And they lived happily ever after as man and wife in the Greenwood, amongst their merry men.”
“I still think it strange you used Uncle’s name instead of Father’s,” said Ranulf.
“Steinarr Hood does not have the same ring,” said Ari, closing the small book of tales he’d been working on for these last years. He’d carried it with him from Sussex, where he and Brand searched once more for Cwen.
“I like the story, Sir Ari,” said little Susanna, standing up to nestle a too-small daisy crown into his curls. “I like all the stories you tell.”
“
You are a wise woman.”
“But it seems so … wrong,” said Ranulf. “In truth, Robin and Marian are brother and sister.”
“But only we know that,” said Ari. “For everyone else, the names Robin and Marian are just names. Well-loved names,” he added with a bit of pride. And destined to be even more well loved in a century or two, if he had anything to say about it.
“Father doesn’t love them,” said Emma. She was eight, and always quite certain of what Steinarr did and didn’t like. “He says we shouldn’t use real names when we tell stories. It gets people in trouble. He says you got him in lots of trouble using his name in made-up stories.”
“Well, a little,” Ari admitted. “But we always laughed afterward.”
“Do you think they’re ever going to finish their nap?” asked Susanna.
Ari glanced back toward the clearing where the elf house stood a few hundred paces away. “Soon. But we must not bother them. Come, we shall take a walk.”
He got up, holding his head carefully so his crown didn’t slip. Emma skipped up beside him to grab his hand and he flinched. His palm never had healed properly, in all these dozen years since the bird had torn it open. But that wasn’t what had made him take to wearing thin leather gloves when he was around others. It was the scars. They’d taken on a strange look, the marks of the bird’s claws making them look like runes, and he did not like what they spelled:
Cwen.
She was out there, somewhere, waiting for the next man to have his chance at happiness, so she could try to ruin it again. They all knew it, but they didn’t need to know she’d marked one of them. He would bear that burden alone. Even Brand didn’t know.
“Where will you take us, Sir Ari?” asked Emma, drawing him back to the present.
He considered a moment. “I know where there is a spring with water so clear it almost isn’t there.”
“How can water not be there?” demanded Ranulf, ever the doubter. “If it isn’t there, it isn’t water. It is air.”
“Then we will visit the air spring, and you can explain to me why you get wet when I push you in.”
“You can’t push me in, I am almost as big as you.”
