“I’m going to release you now,” the boy said slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a small child or a wild animal. “You’re not going to scream, you’re not going to make any sudden movements, and if you bite me again, I’ll bite you back. Understand?”
Isabelle nodded slowly, cutting her eyes to one side and then the other to try and get a better look at him. All she could make out was a pair of long legs clad in deep green, the hose thick and woolen and likely much more comfortable than her skirts tangled about her legs. Slowly the boy lifted his hand off her mouth, the other clamped firmly on her arm, but shifting so she could sit on her own. Moonlight dappled his face, hiding and revealing brown hair that rolled like waves on the sea, and dark eyes, his jaw sharp and his teeth a flash of white in the darkness.
“Well, you certainly increased our evening’s entertainment,” the boy said with a smirk.
“Who are you?” Isabelle asked, her voice shaky, her heartbeat pulsing through each word. She’d never been so close to a man who wasn’t begging for food or trying to arrest her, and as her panic receded, something else rose to replace it, an odd hyperawareness of every point of contact between them and the distant last time she’d been able to wash. There was something different about this boy, something stronger and leaner and more dangerous than the foulmouthed boys from the tavern or the boys back in Kirkleestown, who always stank of muck and sweat. Something that set her pulse on an uneven rhythm again.
“I’m Adam,” he said, oblivious to her racing thoughts. His eyes flickered over her, appraising her disheveled appearance. “And I’d guess from the look of you, you’re the sister Thomas has been tearing up our forest looking for.”
“Thomas.” Her stomach flipped and she clutched his arm reflexively, shoving back her extended analysis of his jawline and the waves of his hair. “Is he all right, then?”
“Oh, I’d say so, probably half into our roasted duck by now. None too pleased with you, either, I’d guess. Didn’t he tell you to stay put in the tunnel?”
Isabelle darted her gaze away, relief tumbling into a growing sense of guilt. “There were extenuating circumstances.”
Adam chuckled. “Oh, I’d like to see you tell him that.”
“How do we get down from here?” Isabelle asked, wishing to change the conversation and put some physical distance between her and the boy.
“We don’t,” Adam said, pointing higher into the tree. “We go up.”
“Why would we…” she began, but trailed off as she followed his direction. For above them, several more feet into the foliage, she could just make out the shape of a rope bridge tied to the sturdy tree trunk, spidering out in every direction to the neighboring trees. She would never have noticed the ropes from the ground, twisted as they were in the leaves and branches, but from here they were unmistakable, and they were everywhere.
“What in the name of the Almighty…” she breathed, her eyes going round in fascination.
Adam grinned at her from the shadows. “Welcome to Sherwood Forest, sister.”
Getting up to the rope bridge was a task more easily imagined than executed. Adam scaled the branches as if he were strolling up a hill while Isabelle struggled to follow with a maximum reach several inches shorter than his. She was used to climbing the neatly manicured trees of the orchard and had done so to slip out of the priory on several occasions, but these trees were different. Older than the kings themselves, these trees had stood guard over all that came to pass in Sherwood Forest since the first bud had sprung, and their massive branches did not suffer fools or beginners. She was still two branches below the bridge when Adam crouched down, perfectly balanced on the rope’s edge, and lifted a brow at her.
“Need a hand, sister?” he asked.
“I…believe…I can…manage,” she grunted as a strip of bark came away in her hand, nearly tumbling her to the ground far below.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Adam said, but he didn’t offer her help again.
It took several more tries, and a littering of bark on the surrounding limbs, but she finally managed to reach the thick line of rope and haul herself up. There wasn’t much to support her, a single rope the thickness of her foot and two smaller ropes at waist height for balance, but it was better than scrabbling up the tree trunk. The rope swayed under her feet, the hard soles of her boots giving her no purchase.
“Takes some getting used to,” Adam said, reaching out a hand to steady her until the rope stopped swaying. She could feel each one of his fingers pressed into her side, their heat suffusing the fabric of her habit. “Might help if you took those boots off.”
“I…am…fine,” Isabelle said, her heart hammering away with each wide sway of the rope. She’d rather fall a few dozen feet than bare her legs to him right then. “Where are we going?”
“Well, if you can get your balance, we’re headed to the camp,” Adam said, eyeing her boots doubtfully. “I suppose I could carry you.”
“Absolutely not,” Isabelle said, heat blossoming over her cheeks as she gripped both hand ropes until her knuckles were white. She pulled her shoulders back, willing the rope to stay steady under her feet. “I am fine. Shall we?”
His only answer was a raised eyebrow and a half smile, but he turned and led the way forward. He moved over the rope like it was wide as the king’s road, his step sure and quick. She did her best not to rock the bridge, mimicking his movements by sliding her feet forward rather than picking them up. Still, she had to stop several times to regain her balance before she could continue on.
“What of the soldier?” she huffed, her concentration glued to the ropes as they reached the next tree where the rope bridge connected to another.
“Who, that tin head?” Adam glanced back at the forest floor. “He’ll be fine. Little’s probably led him halfway to Scotland by now.”
“And the others?” she asked, hugging the trunk of the tree to slide to the next rope bridge. “The Blue Boar Inn?”
Adam gave a little huff of laughter. “I wouldn’t worry about that lot. It’s the king’s lapdogs you should be worried for. They know better than to come round here. These lads must be green and hungry to bother the Boar.”
But Isabelle knew why they had come. She swallowed back a lump of guilt, following in silence for several moments, the rest of her concentration going to keeping her footing on the rope. There were plenty other questions she could ask, but just watching the confident, economical movements of the boy reminded her how much of a fool she’d already made of herself. She didn’t need to add to her humiliation with a thousand silly, ignorant questions. Even if she desperately wanted to ask them.
They had crossed several more trees, enough that Isabelle could navigate around their trunks without pressing her face against the rough bark, when Adam stilled, holding up two fingers for quiet. Isabelle wiggled behind him, taking shelter in the solid expanse of his shoulders while doing her best not to sway the rope as she searched the surrounding shadows for whatever had alerted him. Finally she heard it, a faint rustle drawing closer. Her heart pounded, her hands tightening on the rope, until Adam gave an exasperated sigh.
“You’re doing it again,” he called out.
“Doing what?” came a voice from below.
“Letting your arms swing.”
“I am not!”
“You are! Old Man Jeffers could hear you coming.”
A boy unwound from the darkness below, so tall and lanky Isabelle thought he must have been crafted from the same material as the trees. His hair gleamed a deep red in the faint moonlight, and he crossed his arms as he glared up at Adam. “That old turkey wouldn’t hear the Four Horsemen coming, and I wasn’t swinging my arms.”
He hauled himself into the branches, vaulting up through the canopy until he landed on the rope bridge with a speed that left Isabelle breathless. He leaned past Adam to give her a grin. “Hello again, sister.”
She regarded him with wide-eyed surprise. “Have we met?”
; “Not properly, no, but once you’ve tossed a lass into a tree you’re practically related, don’t you think?”
Isabelle turned a furious shade of pink, glad for the darkness. “I see. That was you.”
His grin widened. “That was me. Allan’s the name, though everyone calls me Little.”
She took in the sheer height of him. “I cannot possibly imagine why.”
Adam chuckled, glancing at her over his shoulder. “His da is Allan A’Dale. Believe it or not, he’s the littler of the two.”
“For now,” Little grumbled in a voice that indicated it was a sore subject for him.
“The soldier, Little?” Adam prompted.
“What? Oh, right. Him. Be picking his way out of Sherwood for the next year on.”
Adam gave a nod, glancing over his shoulder at Isabelle. “See, sister? Nothing to worry about.”
There was plenty to worry about, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Come on, then,” Little said, bouncing up and down and setting the rope bridge moving in a way that made Isabelle queasy. “I’m near to starving and all the best bits will be gone from the feast by now.”
Isabelle’s stomach awoke from its slumber at the mention of a feast, grumbling loud enough that Little raised both eyebrows at her.
“That you, sister?” he asked.
She considered letting go of the rails and plunging to the ground rather than answer his question, but Adam saved her with a shove on Little’s shoulder.
“Get on, then, if you’re so hungry,” he said. “It’s you blocking the way.”
They followed the bridges through the canopy, the single rope widening into a ladderlike structure of multiple ropes bound together, which made it far easier for her to walk along. Ahead the bridges connected to small wooden platforms encircling the trees, the planks fanned out like the rays of the sun to allow for easier passage between the bridges. She even thought she spied some larger structures, almost like houses, built around the trees in the distance, though she couldn’t imagine how that would be possible.
But all of that faded to insignificance after the first whiff of roasted suckling pig came wafting through the trees. It took all her propriety not to shove the two boys aside and race across the bridges toward the source of that smell, so fatty and meaty and delicious. Some sigh of desire must have escaped her, though, for Adam glanced at her over his shoulder with a curious look.
“Are you all right, sister?”
All she could manage was a nod, her salivary glands flooding her mouth in anticipation. She barely registered the walkways expanding around her, knitted through the trees like a spider web, extending out to cheery little houses that were, in fact, built high up in the canopy around the tree trunks. She didn’t even startle as other people appeared outside those houses and along those walkways, men and women and children going about their business, stoking cooking fires and hanging laundry and hauling braces of hares back from a long evening of hunting. All of them wearing the same deep green as Adam and Little.
But even in her hunger-induced stupor, Isabelle drew up short as the trees thinned out into a clearing filled with a feast the king himself would envy. She had never seen so much food, not even at harvesttime. There were a dozen stone tables patched in moss on the forest floor below, covered in platters of food so heavy Isabelle doubted she could lift one. It was enough to feed Kirkleestown three times over for the remainder of the year. Each table teemed with foresters, shouting and laughing and lifting flagons of ale like there wasn’t an entire contingent of soldiers scouring the woods just then.
“Where are we?” she breathed in awe.
“The outlaw camp,” Adam said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat before Little opens his mouth and inhales it all.”
He led her to a break in the platform where a ladder extended down the trunk to the ground. If anyone was curious about her, they hid it well, their glances sliding past her to more interesting sights. Sure enough, Little had already elbowed his way into a table still piled high with food. He waved a turkey leg in her direction and she nearly bit his hand off.
“Come on, sister,” he said, mouth full. “Don’t be shy, I know you’re hungry.”
She didn’t even have the capacity to be embarrassed by the observation because she was too busy tearing up the nearest loaf of bread and shoving chunks into her mouth. Unlike the indigestible disappointment of the bread Thomas gave her, this bite dissolved into a heavenly, buttery mess in her mouth, and she closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure before devouring the rest. Little watched the proceedings with wide eyes.
“Never seen a girl eat like that,” he said. “Don’t know whether to be impressed or afraid.”
“I’d better tell Thomas we found the sister,” Adam said. He pointed a finger at Little. “No fighting.”
Little spread his arms wide, the portrait of innocence. “What do I have to fight about?”
“You always manage to find something. Keep an eye on the sister here, would you?”
Isabelle was too consumed by the delicious feast to note his departure. She dove into each dish with abandon, hardly tasting some of them in her eagerness to fill her empty belly. The genial conversation of the outlaws washed over and through her, and as her hunger dropped to a low growl, she was able to take stock. She wouldn’t have guessed these people to be outlaws were she not sitting in their hidden camp, eating what was probably stolen food. Despite all the tales she had heard of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, she didn’t expect to find an entire community of men, women, and children thriving within the wilds of the forest. In an odd way it reminded her of Kirklees Priory, a community isolated from the greater world, though with far more men and meats.
“So, sister, what is it you’ve done to bring the king’s wrath down on you?” Little asked, gnawing thoughtfully on the remaining bits of meat still clinging to his turkey leg.
Isabelle’s stomach lurched. “What makes you think I’ve done anything?”
Little shrugged. “No one comes to the camp on a lark.”
Isabelle took another bite of the roasted pig, chewing slowly to consider the various answers to that question. Had he asked a few hours ago, she would have thought the answer far more simple; but the revelations from Thomas threw everything she thought she knew into confusion. She swallowed the meat, deciding on the easiest of the answers she could give.
“I shot a soldier off his horse,” she said.
Little perked up. “Go on, then, you did not! That’s bloody brilliant!”
Isabelle winced. “It did not feel brilliant at the time. I only meant to spook the horse, but the fool pulled his reins at the last minute and the horse reared, and the arrow caught him right in the shoulder, just between the armor.”
Little gave a boisterous laugh that drew the attention of half the clearing, and Isabelle sank down behind the carcass of the suckling pig. “Oh, I bet he screamed like a bloody girl. They always do.”
“Always?” Isabelle lifted her brows. “Do you make a habit of shooting soldiers?”
“We’re the Merry Men, sister. It’s part of the job.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” said a wry voice edged in an Irish accent. A young boy no taller than Isabelle plopped down in a vacant spot across from them, his smile open and welcoming. “He’s never shot a man in his life. All those long limbs, wasted on bad aim.”
“I shoot all right,” Little said, looking upward in contemplation. “If it’s the broad side of a barn you’re aiming for.”
The boy laughed. “Your strength lies in the staff, Little.” He looked to Isabelle with a serious expression. “The Almighty help the man who gets close enough to test it.”
“I am not sure the Almighty concerns himself with the petty nature of men fighting,” Isabelle replied. “He is, after all, a just God. I would think he supposes if one were to take up such a challenge, one would deserve such a thrashing.”
The boy laughed. “You sound like Father Donnell, my old tutor, whenever I found myself on the thrashed end of a scuffle. Welcome to Sherwood. I’m Patrick.”
Isabelle nodded in greeting, taken aback by the easy camaraderie in his tone. Were all the outlaws so friendly? “Isabelle.”
Little leaned forward gleefully. “The sister here was just telling me how she shot a soldier off his horse.”
Patrick looked to her in surprise. “You’re a sister?”
She matched his look. “That was the most astonishing part of what he said to you?”
“There you are,” came Thomas’s voice from the crowd. He threaded through the outlaws, Adam close behind, bearing down on her like an angry bull and thrusting one accusing finger at her. “You were supposed to stay put.”
“I did,” Isabelle protested, her voice pitching up in an effort to cover her guilt. “But you were gone so long I was afraid something might have happened to you. And then I heard something, and I thought it might be you—”
“Even though you didn’t hear the signal,” Thomas interjected. “Which I told you to listen for.”
“Well, yes, but I thought you might have forgotten. Or maybe you could not give the signal because you were in danger.”
Thomas crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at her. “And so you thought the best idea was to leave the safety of the tunnel and put yourself at risk as well?”
“No!” Isabelle fumbled with the heel of a loaf of bread. “I mean, that was not my intention at the time.”
Thomas blustered through a curse as Little let out a booming laugh. “A sister after my own heart.”
“I am not actually a sister,” Isabelle said reflexively, staring at the table.
“That’s enough, Little,” said another forester, stepping forward beside Thomas. He towered over the barkeep by at least a head, and considering the sharp slope of his nose and the red tint to his hair, she guessed he must be Allan A’Dale. “Don’t you boys have some cleaning to do?”
Hood Page 4
