Daughter of Sherwood by Laura Strickland Page A

delectably with what he was, tangled, and came apart again. In that instant he knew her every fear, every weakness, and every strength, and saw she knew him as well.
    As a child he had once stuck his hand in the fire on a dare—from Martin, of course. It felt like that, and like the sunlight after a storm, and the longing he experienced when he gazed at the stars at night. It pulled at the roots of his soul.
    She raised her hand, and he thought she might strike him, as she would any man who dared take such liberty. Instead she caressed his cheek, touching him as if she feared he might disappear under her fingers.
    A raging desire arose in him. Ah, but he could not take her here on the floor of the forest. He wanted to. Yet they fled pursuit, and his first duty was to protect her, always.
    The breath left him as he eased away from her, and she sighed in response. Her fingers fell from his cheek.
    “Come,” he told her, “we must away.”
    “But your wound—” She groped for the torn fabric of his sleeve, revealing an injury which bled copiously.
    “’Tis naught.”
    “Let me tie it up, or you will leave a trail.”
    Sparrow nodded. Without hesitation she tore what was left of his sleeve, folded it deftly, and pressed it to the long wound.
    “You have skill in those hands.”
    “Lil taught me.” She glanced into his eyes and stole his breath again. “Just as well I can make myself useful, eh?”
    Now it was he who lifted his hand and touched her hair. “Aye, and you will learn the ways of Sherwood,” he heard himself say. “Because you are meant to stay here always, with me.”

Chapter Nine
    “It will be dark soon. How much farther must we go?” Rennie had no idea where they were. The forest seemed endless, and they had tramped what felt like a circuitous route. She knew herself to be utterly dependent on Sparrow’s sense of direction.
    At least her terrible trembling had ceased. Maybe Sparrow had charmed it from her, for they walked with their hands linked and emotions flowed easily between them. She could feel how badly his injured arm pained him, how he craved water and rest. She knew how he craved her.
    Ever since that kiss—but, it had been no mere kiss. A power lurked in it, and a terrifying current of desire, maybe even belonging. But Rennie could not be sure about that. She had never belonged anywhere, save the scullery, and to no one but Lil.
    She stole another look at Sparrow. In the soft light of encroaching evening he appeared mysterious, a mere shadow moving at her side, with the brown hair lying sleek against his shoulders and his eyes veiled. He had a fine profile, a strong nose, and those lips... Remembering the feel of them, desire stirred deep in her belly, and he turned his head to look at her again.
    His gaze was that of a hart, dark and secretive, holding wisdom deep enough to inspire awe in her heart. Mating with him, she thought, would be like mating with the forest itself.
    She spoke, in an effort to deny what she felt. “I would not like to stay out here all night.”
    “Here, or back at camp, it is all the same. The forest looks out for us. But we are not far from camp. What I am wondering is whether camp will still be safe, or if soldiers have already discovered it.”
    “How many of our folk died, do you think?”
    “Ours? Villagers and forest folk, all? I saw at least four go down.”
    Her fingers spasmed in his. “Lil—”
    “I did not see what befell her, but I thought I saw Sally’s father, Edgar, fall.”
    “No.”
    “And old John. Two others of the villagers—”
    “Why would Lambert’s men attack at a burial? You do not suppose they were looking for me?”
    Sparrow shook his head. “I much doubt it. Lambert had no way of knowing you were there.”
    “I think he saw me, though.” Remembering, Rennie shivered. “He looked right at me. What if he saw Lil, also? Will she be able to return to Nottingham?”
    “Lil can look after herself.”
    “By using magic,