Juliana Garnett by The Baron Read Free Book Online Page A

more Norman wrath upon the land.”
    “There will be no deaths. Not even Normans will defy the threat of a cloth-yard arrow. The tax monies will be yielded. When the sheriff returns from Canterbury, he will be reminded that the justice he speaks of can be a two-edged sword.”
    A brief image spun before her, of green eyes in a hard face, a competent hand upon her arm; she shivered.
    “Desperation.” Her voice sounded strange to her, as hollowas the tree. She looked at John, saw comprehension in his gaze. “Will came to me in desperation and hope. I could not think what to do. This”—she curved a hand toward the road—“was all that made sense. The sheriff is absent from Nottingham to present the king with a muster of who has obeyed royal summons and who has not. Only a small garrison remains behind, too few to guard the tax men.”
    “I fear ye have allowed Will Scarlett to endanger more than empty fields with his notions of bravery. He ignores obvious perils, and prates of yesteryear.” John heaved a great sigh; broad hands splayed on his bent knees, fingers curling into wool hosen. “I brought my bow. And my staff. But I will not use them until ye are gone from here.”
    “Am I not to meddle in men’s business?” Her tone was taut as a bowstring, bitter with the memory of the sheriff’s taunt. “Robin taught me well. I am capable.”
    “Aye, yet—hark now!”
    Jane rose to stand in the high cavity of the oak. She was unprepared for the hissing
s-swwooosh
and solid
thunnnk
as an arrow found its mark in the ridged bark of the oak. John leaned out, a big hand closing on the vibrating shaft. Peacock feathers fanned from the slotted vane, wound fast with red twine.
    “The time to flee is gone. They come.” His glance was probing. “Be ware. Even four Normans can be deadly.”
    “I know.” Her gaze shifted to the greenwood beyond the oak. “Will has planned carefully.”
    “I have suffered Will Scarlett’s botched plans before, milady. Look to thy safety, and I will be at thy back.”
    He left her, ducking to leave the hollow, shoulders as wide as a bull’s draped in Lincoln green. Stooping to lift his bow from where he’d propped it against a birch, he trotted across the clearing to a gloomy bower of shadows that swallowed him in a single step.
    Jane settled into the hollow; she took up the bow and leaned into the yew to seat the bowstring. Fingers plucked it like a lute. It hummed softly. She extracted an arrow from her quiver and held it loosely.
    Save for a fine mist, the rain had ceased. No wind stirredleaves or fern or damp, heavy air. Beyond the oak, a faint shimmer of leaves betrayed waiting men armed with weapons her coin had purchased. The sound of hooves on mud drew closer. She slid the tip of her tongue along the ticklish feather fletching, then nocked the arrow and waited.
    Expectation made her hands tremble; the blue steel of the bodkin arrowhead quivered.
    Loose it easy, steady and yet sharp. Do not wink with one eye and look with the other. Stand as straight and firm as the oak.… Nay, draw not with the strength of the arm, but of the body, little Jaie
.…
    Robin was with her still, his remembered advice a familiar echo.
    She smiled, reassured, and saw the first rider emerge from the leaves curtaining the Birklands road. A deep breath, reflexes directing her, she gripped the bow with her left hand, the arrow still loosely nocked and held with the first three fingers of her right hand.
    Do not draw too soon, Jaie, or the arrow will not cast as it should.
    Three more horsemen trailed the first; false monks with hoods pulled up passed beneath the dripping trees. Abruptly, a white-fletched arrow hummed in warning, digging into the mud in front of the first courser. The animal neighed, reared, plunged to one side.
    Lay the body to the bow, Jaie—draw from thigh and hip as much as from the arm.
    Jane brought up the bow, stood with left foot a bit ahead of her body’s curve and the bow