Read Laura Strickland - The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy for Free Online Page B

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    How many days had he been here? He thought it must be three, but he might be mistaken. Time blurred when he slipped in and out of consciousness. Almost no food and precious little water had been provided during that time. But the woman with the beautiful dark eyes had come to tend him thrice.
    He had dreamed of her last night, a disturbing dream that came in pieces and then refused to release him. She had bent over him, her dark hair loosed from its cap, flowing down. The front of her bodice had been loosened also, an offering of the soft temptations within. She had laid her lips upon his, fused her mouth to his, called up something within him so powerful it scorched his soul. She had summoned his spirit to her bidding with magical ease.
    From this vision had the cruel hands torn him. Now he stumbled out into the summer dawning and confronted a ring of faces. Mist rose all around, nearly obscuring the huts that clustered beneath the trees. It seemed as if the forest breathed visibly, and all else wavered amidst it.
    Gareth shook his head. The dream had addled his wits. Clearly, this was no fit time for fancy. He scanned the circle for danger and for a single face among the many—Linnet’s face—and found only the danger. Scarface was there, and he wore an odd expression that resembled gloating. His accursed and ever-present son stood at his side, and there was the lass with the fierce, yellow eyes, the one who was the healer’s sister, though they did not look much alike.
    They had the same, rich dark brown hair, aye, but there all similarity ended. No one could ever mistake Linnet for anything other than a woman. Her narrow, gentle hands, her graceful form, even the scent of her, all declared it.
    The sister clad herself like a boy and went about bedecked with enough weapons to stock a small arsenal. Tiny and with that fearsome gaze, she seemed to harbor enough hate for both sisters.
    Gareth dismissed her now with an arrogant lift of his chin. His head might well swim with weakness, he might ache to his toes, his injured leg might threaten to go out from under him, but he would be damned if he would let these dogs see any of it.
    “He looks young for a proven knight,” a man said. Something about the voice, deep and husky, made Gareth’s eyes fly to him. He stood front and center beside a tall woman, the mist curling around them both like the vestiges of enchantment.
    Ah, but Gareth did not believe in enchantment. At least, he never had.
    The speaker had height and breadth of shoulders both, a head of brown hair liberally streaked with silver and what, in other circumstances, might be termed a kind face. He must have made a daunting opponent in his youth. He wore rough leathers covered over with what looked like a ram’s skin for a cloak. The woman at his side...
    Gareth met her gaze and received a jolt. Her fierce, yellow eyes marked her as kin of that other, the one called Lark. As if Gareth needed further proof, this one went clad like a male also, her long legs encased in leggings and with a tunic disguising her femininity. She carried a tall staff, headed by a curious, twisted form, and she emanated an aura of power.
    Scarface replied to her companion’s comment. “They start them young, these Norman bastards. They breed hate into their whelps from the cradle. Never doubt it.”
    The woman with the golden eyes spoke. “Ah, but you have done a foolish thing, Martin. I do not see how you can send him back. He will know us—he will lead his uncle back to this village. De Vavasour will retaliate and we shall be at war again.”
    Scarface smiled slowly. “Let it come. We have been too long betraying ourselves for the sake of peace.”
    The crowd stirred uneasily and the woman shot Scarface a hard look. “Have you forgotten the cost? Would you have others die as did Sally and Thrush?”
    “They will slaughter us by any road, the accursed Sheriff and his ilk—that much we have learned. What if we