Read Online Daughter of Sherwood by Laura Strickland - Free Book Online Page A

my father is dead, gone.” Sally repeated the words for the third or fourth time, brokenly.
    They wrenched at Sparrow’s heart. He had no comfort for the lass, who had wept most of the night. Now the chill of morning had come creeping, and the forest camp felt as barren and sere as Sparrow’s own emotions.
    A thin spire of smoke curled up from the fire, and all the trees drooped. Last night’s storm had passed, but the clouds hung low, and it felt more like winter than spring.
    Sally clung to Madlyn, who possessed far more patience than her son. Martin, to whom Sally had first looked for a shoulder on which to weep, remained distracted by Wren.
    That knowledge was a knife in Sparrow’s gut. The curse of feeling what Wren felt, even in part, told him she had been inflamed when she and Martin returned last night from the dark under the trees—angered, but stirred, as well.
    Now Sparrow’s arm ached with a raw, biting pain, the damp seemed to seep into his bones, and the future looked hopelessly bleak. If Wren chose Martin...
    Even now the two of them spoke together, huddled on one side of the clearing, their heads far too close for Sparrow’s liking. He did not know of what they could be speaking, but he caught spikes of emotion from both of them, uncertainty and then enthusiasm from Wren, and from Martin, jubilation.
    Sparrow forced his fingers through his hair. Yesterday, when he kissed Wren, he had been so sure he had won. Not that Wren’s love was a contest, like the countless others between himself and Martin all these years past. But he had been able to feel Wren respond to him even as his heart came alive at her touch.
    “Come, lamb, lie down a while. You have had no rest.” Dimly he saw Madlyn lead Sally off to one of the sheltered bowers. When Madlyn returned, she sat beside Sparrow and elbowed him.
    “If you want her, fight for her, lad.”
    “Eh?”
    Madlyn nodded at the couple across the way. “Will you sit with your head in your hands while Martin works his wiles? Oh, do not look so surprised. Do you suppose, just because he is my son, I do not know what he is like?”
    Sparrow said nothing.
    “I love both of you,” Madlyn went on. “You have been a second son to me, since your mother died.”
    The pain inside Sparrow eased a little. “I know, and I am grateful.”
    “Martin is like his father, whom I loved despite knowing better. Will was heedless, hotheaded, and started more fights than he had pots of ale, and that is saying something. Martin—well, he bred true.”
    “He thinks me weak.”
    Madlyn snorted. “He thinks everyone weak. It is one of his greatest faults. Ruthlessness and wisdom seldom travel together. She will not think you weak, lad, if you show her otherwise.”
    “Easy to say, when he has already won all her attention.”
    “There is naught easy about love, or life, for all that. But, you know, we would not be here if not to learn hard lessons.”
    Sparrow shot her a sidelong glance. Her blue eyes looked thoughtful.
    “Here, Madlyn?”
    “In the world. I once heard Alric say ’tis all life is, a place to learn and shape our spirits. I believe that. Otherwise, I do not think I could go on, for there is too much loss, and far too much pain.”
    Impulsively, Sparrow touched the woman’s hand. “You are very wise, Madlyn.”
    Madlyn shrugged. “I have made mistakes in plenty, and I have lived with them. Benefit from my knowledge, lad, and do not let something go by, if you want it very badly. Failing, and even feeling the fool, is better than sharp regret.”
    Ruefully, Sparrow asked, “Do you not want your son to become headman of Oakham rather than a humble hermit, wed to the forest?”
    “Well, that is just it, Sparrow. I am not sure but it is the place he wants, rather than the lass. And I am not about to claim I know what he needs.”
    Later that morning, a young lad brought news from Oakham. No less than five of their own had perished in yesterday’s encounter,