Free Daughter of Sherwood by Laura Strickland Page A

us and the magic.”
    “’Tis four of us, verily, as it was for Alric, Geofrey, and Lil before us—three of us and Sherwood. The wards were set up at the time of Robin’s death.”
    “Lil told me that, but it makes no sense. How can Sherwood play a part?”
    “Sherwood is alive.” Sparrow glanced up into the trees that arched above them. “Its soul is a living thing, sacred to the Lord and Lady themselves.”
    “The god and goddess, you mean. The old religion.”
    “It never grew old, here. How could it? Its very roots are here, deep in the soil, carried in the light and the water, and the life that burns in the heart of the hare and the hart. The protective wards Lil, Alric, and Geofrey set in place call on that life force, that magic, but the magic itself is far older. Sometimes you can hear it whisper, in the leaves.”
    “I have heard that. I find it terrifying.”
    “But it is not! It must seem strange to you, aye, but you should not be afraid, because it is part of what is in you.”
    “And what are we meant to do—you, me, and Martin? Please tell me, as you understand it.”
    “With Geofrey’s death, the wards that keep us safe and hidden here in Sherwood—and that keep your father’s memory alive—are weakened. If the Sheriff dies before we can renew the wards, a new, vital force will be brought in to oppose us. Lil fears Sherwood’s magic could fail, then. We will all be in danger.”
    “And these wards, what are they, exactly?”
    “Old magic, raised and woven. They come of belief, and joining.”
    “So, how do we strengthen them?”
    Sparrow hesitated. “Did Lil not tell you?”
    “I wish to hear it from you.”
    “You must choose between us, Martin and me, where to gift your heart. The one you choose will devote himself to you and become the new headman of Oakham. The other will take Alric’s place and bond with Sherwood itself.”
    “With Sherwood?”
    “As a priest bonds himself to the church.”
    “Oh.” Wren’s golden eyes widened.
    Wryly, Sparrow told her, “Martin does not fancy the life of a hermit. Headman is far more to his taste. He will sway you any way he can.”
    “And you? How do you fancy the place in the forest?”
    Not sure how to answer, Sparrow danced around it. A bit roughly, he replied, “Sometimes sacrifices must be made. In Sherwood, they are demanded often. Your own father sacrificed himself, and Lil spent many years away from Geofrey, in Nottingham.”
    “I see.” She gazed away from him, through the trees, and he thought she might leave it there. But she did not.
    “How am I supposed to make this vital choice, then? By love? By desire? For the good of all?”
    Sparrow did not reply.
    “What if I feel no love or desire for either of you?” Or for both . Those words remained present but unspoken.
    “Only you can make the choice, by the knowing within you. Do not let Martin persuade you, nor I.”
    “I have no ‘knowing’ within. I have spent my life in a small stone room, given very few choices. But as for Martin, I do wish he would leave me alone until I can catch my breath.”
    “Let me defend you from him.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “How?”
    “I will make you a bow, and instruct you in its use. He may keep away, if he sees you occupied. Anyway, archery is my one strength.”
    She widened her eyes at him again. “Oh, Master Sparrow, I do think you underestimate yourself.”
    ****
    “Hold it this way. No, with the fletchings just at your chin, a bit higher.”
    As Wren raised her elbow, it brushed Sparrow’s chest, and he had to close his eyes against the sensation. Since early morn they had worked together using a light bow meant for one of the lads and, with the sun now high in the sky, his resistance wore thin. Wren stood within the curve of his arms, holding the bow in her hands. Occasionally her hair brushed his cheek and he could smell her fragrance, light and beguiling.
    Across the clearing, Martin brooded, his eyes constantly upon