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us by our Norman overlords. We have been stagnant and compliant far too long, ever since your father’s dream fractured with his death. But I can feel what is inside you—the fire and the magic. We can turn the tide.”
    “And, what?” Rennie challenged. “Overthrow Lambert? The Sheriff? The King?”
    “Why not?” His voice flicked like a whip. “Do we not have right on our side? Your father believed in the power of right. My father taught me so! He told me justice is won a battle at a time—one man at a time.”
    “Very admirable. But as one raised in the scullery on the Sheriff’s crumbs and leavings, I can tell you there is much injustice, and great distance between us and the King.”
    “You think I do not know it?” He leaned toward her and widened his eyes. “There is a long score to settle. You and I together, though—” His fingers tightened on her arm. “Can you not feel what lies between us?”
    Rennie could. She also knew the potential of what lay between her and Sparrow. She stole another look past Martin’s shoulder.
    Martin stepped closer. “Stop looking for him—he is not coming. Do you know why? He is weak. He speaks of peace and compromise, the promise in this document the barons forced King John to sign.”
    “The Magna Carta?”
    “That is it. But I will tell you something, Wren. That grand document assures the rights of those very barons and lords, most of them Norman. It does nothing for the likes of you and me, serfs with no more liberty than a hound. They will live, still, off the efforts of our hands and the strain of our backs, if we let them. They must be made to reckon with us.”
    Rennie challenged him back. “How?”
    “Wage war on them from Sherwood. Since your father—and mine—died, we have done no more than exist and protect ourselves. That must change. Let the King himself come here and deal with us, and our success will spread. There are more serfs in this land than lords—let us all rise at once!”
    “You are mad.”
    “Am I? All it will take is the right leaders. Once I declare myself Lord of Sherwood and you my lady—”
    He bent his head and kissed her. All his fire and enthusiasm flooded into her from the place his lips met hers.
    Rennie promptly caught light in response, the wild streak in her responding to that in him. His spirit called to her, and the power of the call both thrilled and daunted her.
    No sweet inquiry, this. Martin drew her close against him and explored the interior of her mouth in a manner that left no question as to his intent. His body, pressed hard to hers, kept no secrets.
    Both his spirit and his body inflamed and battered Rennie with equal impact.
    A wind came up and stirred the trees overhead, and in the distance thunder rumbled, its promised lightning matching the heat of Martin’s embrace.
    He broke the kiss suddenly to say, “Give yourself to me, Wren, and nothing will stop us.”
    “I need time.” Her fingers had anchored themselves in the soft leather of his jerkin. She discovered she wanted his mouth on hers again—the taste of him might well be addictive, like strong wine.
    “Nay, Wren, come with me now. I will ask Alric to join us.”
    “Join?”
    “Handfast. Wed.”
    “I scarcely know you.”
    “You do—you can feel me, Wren, even as I feel you.”
    She could certainly feel something, a hot power surging at her from between his thighs. Rennie remembered the girls in the kitchens talking about one suitor or another, comparing their endowments. My lad Cedric is a regular bull in the hay, he gored me right well last night—twice! She recalled how Lambert had reached for his fly.
    Rennie struggled to draw breath, fighting the force of Martin’s desire which, somehow, seemed to have become her own.
    “I am ready to wed with no one,” she declared, and freed herself from the hot grasp of his hands. “And one thing I will tell you, Master Scarlet—you shall never bully me.”

Chapter Ten
    “I cannot believe