The Last Arrow RH3 (21 page)

Robin curled his long fingers around the back of a solid oak chair and squeezed until the knuckles turned white.

When he looked from one tense face to the next and saw agreement etched reluctantly on all of them, he cursed and swung the chair so hard, it hit the wall and split in two. Not satisfied, he picked the backless seat up by the legs and smashed it once, twice, thrice against the stone wall until he held only two splintered sticks and a portion of board in his fists.

"Indeed," Sparrow muttered. "Such antics should help heal the ribs."

Panting, red with impotent fury, Robin raked his hands through his hair and paced back and forth before the fire.

"As to the matter of time," the Wolf said, watching his son with one wary eye while prompting Alaric to continue with the other.

"Even assuming the worst has happened," said FitzAthelstan, "that Henry is dead and the princess's whereabouts have been discovered, I believe we still have a safe margin. Marienne knows full well what to do; she has been instructed a thousand times over. She will keep the princess safe by claiming their right, under Canon Law, to sanctuary on holy ground. Any man or woman, be they guilty of the most heinous crimes, is entitled to seek refuge under the roof of the church, where their safety is guaranteed for forty days and forty nights. Not even the king

would dare violate the laws of sanctuary, not unless he wanted to see England plunged into another six-year interdict, and not unless he wanted to lose all semblance of Rome's support."

"The message is three weeks old," Robin reiterated through the grating of his teeth.

"Twenty-one days," Will agreed, "assuming they were forced to claim sanctuary the instant the ring was sent. And if that was the case, we surely would have heard by now, for all of England would have been abuzz with the news and Louis himself would have canceled the tourney at Gaillard so he could prepare his army to invade at once."

"Gaillard," the Wolf said flatly. "The tournament is but three days long?"

"We will need at least that much time to make arrangements for safe—and discreet—passage across the Channel."

The towering Jean de Brevant, a silent, glowering figure until now, looked over and nodded. "My cousin smuggles wine out of Fecamp; I am sure I could convince him to smuggle a small group of worthies coming home from a long pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I will only need to know how many cowls to procure."

One after the other, without hesitation, Robin, Richard, Dag, Sparrow, and Will drew their daggers and stuck them, point down, in the top of the wooden table. Only Will's hand lingered on the hilt while he looked askance at Lord Randwulf.

"With your permission, of course, my lord."

"You have it gladly. I have no doubt they will need the guidance of at least one level head."

A last dagger, longer and sharper than the rest, sank into the wood a full inch deeper than the others. As captain of the castle guard, Jean de Brevant's presence at Chateau d'Amboise was not to be lightly dismissed. As a seven-foot pillar of muscle and belligerence, however, his sword at Robin's back would be indispensable.

Moreover, "I was born in Nottinghamshire," he growled. "I know the forests and villages well."

Lord Randwulf nodded again. "I warrant I can hold the castle walls for a fortnight while you are gone."

A seventh dagger pierced the top of the table, thrown the same instant the arched oaken door swung wide.

Sparrow's hands moved in an instinctive blur, as did Littlejohn's and Robin's. In less time than it took for the shock to register on everyone's face, Brenna was surrounded by the glitter of unsheathed knives and swords. "You will need more than just a level head and a strong sword arm to guide you," she said calmly, stepping into the full light.

"You will need someone with a knowledge of forest paths who can move with skill and stealth and shoot in the eye out of a running squirrel at a hundred paces."

Growling a curse, Littlejohn pushed swiftly past her to check the shadows outside in the corridor lest there were a dozen more eyes and ears pinned to the keyhole.

"Christ Jesus, Bren," Will said under his breath. "I warned you one day you would be caught listening to something you should not hear."

"Why should I not hear it?" she demanded. "Why should I not know when my family is facing grave danger? Am I so flighty and untrustworthy? Do you think me so inept or such a useless weakling I would not be able to help?"

"No one thinks you either weak or inept," her father said, barely recovered from the shock of her unexpected appearance. "Nor was it a matter of trust. It was for your own safety these things were kept from you."

"They were not kept well," she said, looking pointedly at the dragon ring. "Mistress Biddy told me all the tales of how the Black Wolf ventured to England to fight his bastard brother and rescue his intended bride from the Dragon's lair. She told me how he defied a king and fought a mighty tournament to bring the regent of England to his knees, earning his wrath and enmity forever. She also told me how he saved the son he never knew he had, and how he brought that son home to Amboise and trained him to be a great knight."

"Old Blister," Sparrow grumbled in disgust. "Never was she happy keeping one lip fastened to the other."

Brenna looked accusingly in his direction. "She never said a word against you that was not coated with love and admiration. It was you, she said, who risked all to rescue my father and Eduard from the Dragon's donjons, and you who returned to England years later and took an arrow in the heart to delay the king's troops long enough for Eduard to deliver the princess from Gisbourne's clutches at Corfe Castle."

"Well, in that she only spoke the truth, of course, but—" "But she had no right speaking of it at all." The Wolf's slate-gray eyes bored into Sparrow like two glowing coals, deflating the woodsprite's conceit before it had the chance to puff his chest completely.

"But she did," Brenna said quietly. "She told me most everything, even the part Lady Gillian played in it all."

"Dear God ..." Lady Servanne whispered, standing slowly, her hands clutched over her heart. "No, you cannot be suggesting ...?"

"That I be allowed to go with Robin and the others? That is exactly what I am suggesting." Her mother came forward out of the shadows. "Brenna ... you do not know what you are saying. This is not another escapade in the forest, not just a game of chance." "It is not a game at all, Mother. I know this." "You know. You know! What do you know? Yes, you can creep through the forest and shoot the eye out of a running squirrel at a hundred paces, but you will not be hunting squirrels in Nottingham! You will be hunting—and hunted by—the king's men, shooting at them if it is necessary, killing them if it is necessary." She paused and tears began to silver her eyes. "I loved Gil too.

I loved her as dearly as a sister, and yes, I admired her courage, her boldness, her ability to meet danger in the face and spit in its eye. But I never wanted that for you. Never. Yet I have had to watch In utter terror as you grew into the very image of that same courage and boldness, and I have not known how to stop it. I have tried. God help me, I have tried. Tried and failed."

Brenna hastened to her mother's side and clasped her trembling hands. "You have not failed, Mother. Never think that. And never think that all of my boldness and courage has come from Lady Gillian alone. Biddy told me how you stood up to the Dragon Wardieu. She told me how you entered his lair and defied him despite the fact you knew he would kill you for it."

Servanne's eyes filled helplessly and she looked at her husband. "I... had no choice."

"Because to stand by and do nothing would have been worse than death. Mother... you would not let me go with Robin and the others in the spring because you said I was too young and it was too dangerous and I was needed here. Well, I am not too young to make my own choices anymore. There is danger everywhere. And I am needed, yes, but not here. 1 know you are thinking of Lady Gillian, and I know you loved her as desperately as you love me

... but could you have imagined her happy sitting at home in front of a warm hearth while the family she loved above all else was fighting for her honor and safety?"

Still clutching her mother's ice-cold hands, she turned to Lord Alaric. "Forgive me my bluntness, Friar, but could you have imagined her happier dying any other way? She rode by your side for twenty years; would you have thought to deny her the right to accompany you? Nay, if you were to look back on those twenty years, could you imagine what it might have been like were she not by your side?"

Alaric pursed his lips and looked down at his own hands, which were not as steady as he might have liked them to be.

"I know what it is like without her now," he said quietly. "But no, I could not have denied her."

"Father?" Her courage faltered slightly but she met the smoldering gray eyes directly. "If I were a son, not a daughter, would you even hesitate to let me go? Did you ever once hesitate to call upon Lady Gillian's bow arm when it was needed?"

He lowered his gaze and stared at the dragon ring for a long moment, turning it over and over in his fingers so that the gold glittered and the ruby flashed.

"No," he admitted softly. "I never doubted her skill nor thought twice to have her fighting under the black and gold.

Perhaps if I did, however, she would be with us still."

"Or perhaps, if you had let me go with her, I might have stopped that last arrow before it struck." The silence, heavy as water, stretched almost a full minute more before the Wolf raised his leonine head and caught his wife's shimmering blue eyes. Servanne simply stared back, too terrified to move or even breathe until he looked away again and turned to Robin. "She would be your responsibility. Would you want to accept it?"

The heir to Amboise pursed his lips thoughtfully. "When I was but thirteen and freshly squired to Eduard, I have no doubt you asked him the same question, this despite the words of our returning from England were slim at best."

"The circumstances were hardly comparable." "Indeed they were not, for we traveled on open roads and trusted Eduard's sword arm to see us through any chance encounters with the king's men. I barely had the strength in my arms to lift a sword, let alone wield it with any accuracy, and the only sure target I could hit with an arrow was a tree ten paces away and twenty paces wide." He paused and met Brenna's gaze over his father's head. "When we travel to Nottingham, we will have to keep to the forests and let no one be the wiser for our passing. Will is fully capable of guiding us, but a man with two keen eyes surely sees better than a man with only one. As for her ability to handle herself at close quarters with sword or knife, look to the scar on Richard's chin and ask him the truth of how he came by it."

Richard frowned and raised his hand self-consciously to stroke his beard. "A minor skirmish in the practice yards.

Hardly worth mentioning then or now."

Dag grinned and fisted his brother on the shoulder. "You squealed like a pig and bled like a leaky gourd. Moreover, if anyone would care to ask my opinion, I would give a hearty aye! to Bren coming with us. I, for one, have no love of forests or itchy-fingered outlaws and the sooner we are led In and led out again, the happier I will be."

Sparrow harrumphed noisily and flared his nostrils wide enough to take in all the air in the room. "Does no one give a cod's tooth about my opinion?"

"No," Littlejohn retorted dryly. "But we know you will offer it anyway."

The little man planted his hands on his hips and glared at the captain of the guard. "Fine. Then you will not get it.

Not if you scorched my tongue and roasted my feet over hot coals!"

Lord Randwulf sighed. "Sparrow ... save us the trouble of stoking the fires. I gather you are not in favor of Brenna going?"

The seneschal set his mouth in a twist that clearly questioned the sanity of such a thing even being debated. "I was not in favor of her going to Gaillard. Why should it tickle me now to think of her venturing into the viper's nest in the company of addle-wits and love-sick buffoons?"

Lord Randwulfs eyes narrowed. "Because she will have you watching over her, and I can think of no better guardian offhand ... can you?"

Sparrow opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again. If Brenna had a thought to smile or give a whoop of excitement, the notion was stifled on one glance from the slitted agate eyes. His cheeks were flushed red with his opinion that everyone in the room had finally gone completely and absolutely mad, but he stood with his arms crossed over his barrel chest to warn and threaten her that this selfsame madness was not contagious. Further, that it would not