“I see nothing wrong with that.” She didn’t look down even as they did the next sequence of steps, held in close to his side, with her hands in his. She trusted her body to move properly as they skipped in a circle. “It’s my right to settle for nothing less than the extraordinary.”
Will twirled away, arms up. “And this is your extraordinary?”
“Each home we save, each child we feed, each person we help is the extraordinary.” Robin dipped her shoulders back. “That we can help them, when the rest of the world is content to turn their back on them and leave them to rot in the gutter, is the extraordinary.”
“Your heart makes you extraordinary,” he said when they came close together again, voice pitched low so only she could hear.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said flatly.
“Tis the truth.” Will ended in the same position he’d started in, complete with another bow. “My mouth to God’s ear, it’s the truth.”
Robin sank briefly into a curtsy, and then straightened. Her hands clenched at her sides, seeking a gown to hold that wasn’t there. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and her face felt warm all over, as though she’d been running on a cool, crisp day.
She stood stock-still when he came to stand in front of her and delicately picked up her hand. He raised it, and then grazed his lips over her knuckles with a murmured, “I thank you for the dance, my lady.”
With her voice lodged somewhere behind her breastbone, next to her thundering heart, all she could manage was a tight nod. Will dropped her hand and shook himself, as though aware of the unsettling quiet that had fallen over all of them.
“Ah, it’s—it’s my turn for dinner, isn’t it?” he said, quickly backing away. “I’ll just—let me…” He practically fled, mumbling something she couldn’t quite catch.
Robin watched him go, crossing her arms over her chest when she realized her fingers were trembling. She glared at the girls and Tuck. “Not a word from you lot. Especially you,” she added, staring hard at Jemma.
Jemma mimed locking her mouth and pitching the key.
“Or, at least don’t talk about it until I can’t hear you,” she relented. Kitty did look as though she’d explode if she didn’t say something to someone soon. “I’m going for a walk.”
She made it less than a few yards before she heard hurried, excited whispers.
Someone said, rather loudly, “Have you seen him? Imagine the babies. Imagine them.”
Robin all but ran for the safety and quiet of the forest.
“This is beyond dangerous,” Jemma hissed. “It’s bordering on plain stupid.”
Robin shoved her hood back, and rounded on her friend, arms out to her sides. “What would you have me do, Jemma? There haven’t been any Sheriff patrols recently, and there’s no sign of Gisborne or his men, either out here or in Nottingham. I need to know what those two are doing if I’m going to keep my neck—and everyone else’s—out of the noose.”
“I’m a large supporter of staying alive. I’m rather fond of breathing. I think this will help us do just that. But,” she added, holding up one finger to stall Robin’s next words, “this is a little different than Lia’s Man of God. This is someone who can be bought, Robin, and I think we need to be careful here.”
Robin paced from one side of the clearing to the other, glad they hadn’t decided to build their huts in it. They’d used another, smaller clearing, further in to the forest from Tuck’s cottage too, and so far, the arrangement—and communal living—was beneficial for everyone.
It also provided Robin and Jemma somewhere relatively private in which to hash out certain details, such as the continuing practice of outlaw-ing.
“We need someone on the inside. Lia hasn’t been at her stall more often than not lately, and someone’s bound to notice that. Much can only get so much at the bakery without sounding as though she’s deliberately looking for clues about something she shouldn’t have any interest or care in, and the girls aren’t even frequenting the market anymore because it’s such a risk.” She looked plaintively at Jemma. “Where, exactly, does that leave us?”
Jemma sighed. “It leaves us in a hell of a spot.”
Robin put her hands on her hips and stared at her boots. She was well aware most anyone could be bought at the right price. Hell, her own mother had arranged her marriage to Gisborne in exchange for a higher social standing for the family. She almost didn’t want to think about what someone in Nottingham would do for money enough to permanently escape poverty.
Except she had to. Her life, Jemma’s, all of them, depended on it.
“Do we have someone in mind?” Jemma asked after a few minutes.
“I asked Tuck to look into it, and he’s hopefully got something soon. Someone who can be trusted.” She brought the knuckles of her right hand to her mouth, and, almost hesitantly, spoke again. “Do you—do you think Tuck’s hiding something?”
Jemma’s eyebrows rose. “What?”
“Hiding something. He wouldn’t betray us,” Robin added quickly as Jemma’s expression had darkened into something bordering on righteous murder. “Of that I’m sure. But… do you know how Elena is sometimes Elena and sometimes Alan, instead?”
“You think he’s hiding something like that?” She gestured toward Tuck’s hut. “We’ve been in constant contact with him for months now. Don’t you think we would have noticed? That Lia would have noticed?”
Granted, while Jemma and Lia hadn’t gotten off to the best start, they did now trust each other completely. It was more than Robin could have hoped for at their initial meeting, except now that same trust was counter to what she’d subtly been seeing from their friar.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” Robin said with a shrug. “I thought I’d mention it. I didn’t want it to turn into keeping another secret from you.”
Jemma snorted. “Anything else you’re trying to keep locked away in that head of yours?”
Nothing I’d like to share with you now and hear a usual ‘I told you so’. She shook her head. “Nope.”
A hollow thunking sound drew their attention. They turned to see Lia leaned against a large maple, casually pounding the handle of one of her larger knives against the trunk.
“S’kind of like knocking,” she said with a smirk. “Tuck’s arranged a meeting for you two and a third tonight with our inside man.”
“When?” Robin asked, resolutely tamping down on her nerves.
“After dark. It’s better if nobody sees us.” She glared, almost daring one of them to make a joke.
“We’ll be there.” Jemma smiled innocently even as she pinched Robin in the side hard enough to make her yelp. “Thank you.”
“That wasn’t nice,” she muttered as Lia turned away and went back down the path.
“Since when have you ever known me to fight fair when it comes to you?” Jemma snapped her fingers and grinned in such a way that Robin took a step back. “Since you’re here and we’ve hashed out this inside-man business—as much as we can—let’s talk about you and Will.”
“Let’s not.” Robin twisted her fingers together until she realized what she was doing, and then crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s nothing to talk about. We shared a dance; we rob the rich together.” She refused to look at Jemma’s face. “That’s not love. It’s the necessity of working together.”
Jemma looked as though she had more things to say about it, but wisely—in Robin’s opinion—held her tongue. Without another word, she left the clearing in search of her bow and quiver. A few hours of mindlessly hitting targets would do her wonders.
***
They elected to bring Much with them the first time. If everything went well, they’d gradually introduce their inside man to the rest of them. If it didn’t go well, or turned out to be a trap, well… Robin might finally have to commit her first murder. No one could know they’d been there, or been in such contact with someone.
There was a reason Tuck was still th
e one to deliver most of their ungenerously given donations to the Nottingham poor under the guise of taking their confession at church.
The house their inside man lived in was modest and located in one of the poorer sections of Nottingham near the wall. There was an access point for the outlaws not too far—a drain gate that wouldn’t properly close—though they made doubly sure they weren’t seen.
Robin’s pride in Much went up considerably. For such a solid, hearty girl, she was light on her feet and easily kept pace with them. There was no unnecessary chatter as there might have been from Maggie or Kitty, and Robin could tell she looked around only long enough to fix the route in her mind in case she needed to get there or back by herself. She was a decent outlaw and a damn good baker—the little berry pastry things she’d made the other day had been divine.
“This is it,” Robin murmured. She tried the front door and found it unlocked. Squeezing through, she waited until all three of them were in with the door firmly shut and latched behind them to push her hood back. It took several heartbeats for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, she found they were surrounded by shoes.
“A cobbler?” Jemma held her staff with both hands. “Our inside man is a cobbler?”
There was the sound of footsteps above them, and a light appeared at the end of the room, partially illuminating both a woman and the tiny, rickety staircase she tread. She knocked a particular rhythm on the wall before beckoning them closer.
“This way,” she whispered. “Don’t be frightened.”
Robin bit her tongue so hard she thought she’d taste blood. They weren’t frightened—they were cautious. Anyone in their position with a half a brain would feel the same.
Still, they followed the woman up the stairs to a brightly lit second floor. A bed stood on one side of the room, a table and chairs on the other. Next to the table was a man with graying hair and a round, kind face.
“I’m Lobb,” he said. “I’m the one Friar Tuck has told you about.”
“You want to help us.” Robin trusted Jemma and Much to keep an eye on the woman while she focused on the cobbler. “Keep track of gossip, and as much of the Sheriff and Gisborne’s plans as you can, and relay that information to us.”
“Yes.” Lobb sat, and gestured for her to do the same. “Would you care for anything to drink or eat? All of you, please, have a seat.”
The three of them did as they were told, though Robin kept her strung bow within easy reach and didn’t take off her quiver. Likewise, she saw Jemma keep a hand on her staff.
Lobb’s wife placed a plate of sweet doughs on the table.
“We’re fi—”
“Oh!” Much leaned forward with a smile. “Did you get those at Marie’s?”
“Our favorite place, when we can afford it.” The woman smiled in return. “Do you know it well?”
“If you were there this morning or in the afternoon, then I probably made those.” There was no mistaking the pride in Much’s voice, and Robin snapped her head around to look at the girl’s expression. She’d never seen Much look so confident before, and it made warmth bloom behind her breastbone.
“Every time I try to make these, they don’t come out right. Even if I leave the dough to rise overnight.” Lobb’s wife wrung her hands in her apron.
“Let me have a look. I can probably tell where something’s gone wrong.” And without so much as a backward glance at Robin, Much was out of her chair and accompanying the woman down the stairs to the kitchen.
Robin turned back in time to watch the corners of Lobb’s mouth twitch upward, and she knew they’d been had from the beginning. “You knew.”
“Only because Tuck told me. Otherwise, she does a remarkable job of being only another girl in a bakery.”
“Why do you want to help us?” Jemma asked quietly.
“Because you have helped me.” Lobb gestured with open hands around him. “With such a rise in taxes, we barely had enough. Everything we were making went to that, and left us little left over for food and other necessities. Agnes even tried to find work to help out, but she couldn’t. Everyone is already doing the best they can, and in most cases, it’s not enough.
“Agnes prayed for us in church. Tuck overhead, and he told us to have faith a little longer, that someone would help us. That someone turned out to be you.”
An unknown feeling punched her in the gut, and her mouth dropped open sure as if she’d been physically walloped.
“It’s not only the Christian thing to do, to pay that kind of good fortune and generosity forward,” Lobb continued, “but it’s also the right thing to do, too. As people.”
“This—what you’ve offered to do for us is very dangerous,” Robin said. She couldn’t, in good conscience, let him think he owed them anything. “If you’re caught—if someone realizes what you’re doing, and who you’re helping, they’ll hang you and Agnes without a further thought. Except, maybe, after they torture you to see what you know about all of us and where we’re hiding.”
“You haven’t seen them,” Agnes said unexpectedly from somewhere behind them. The only one who didn’t startle was Lobb, who had seen them reappear at the top of the stairs.
“The children, I mean,” she continued as Much retook her seat. “The orphans and castaways, the children of those whose families are also in the street because they can’t afford to pay their taxes or rent. There used to be droves of them, begging in the alleys for handouts or coin or even a safe place to stay for one night. The number of them has been vastly reduced since you started taking from those who have too much to give to those who have none.”
“You’re a force of good in this world we live in.” Lobb reached out a hand for his wife and drew her by his side. “And any chance to make a fool of that Sheriff is always welcome.”
“Fools hang just as well as anyone else,” Robin reminded them softly. “We’d all do well to remember that. That’s the outcome if we’re not always as careful as we can be.”
“That’s a risk we’re entitled to take if we want it,” Agnes said, hands resting on her husband’s shoulders. “We’ve decided you and your cause—the good people of Nottingham who continually get overlooked—are worth it.”
They seemed like such kind people, with good hearts, and a tiny part of Robin hated herself for what she was about to say.
“We all know what happens if the Sheriff gets wind of any of this,” she said. “We all die, some of us more painfully than the others, most likely. While I’d like to assume the best of everyone, experience has taught me I can’t.” She took a deep breath and spread her hands out on the table, palms down. “If you betray us, willingly and knowingly, there is nowhere that you will be able to hide from us.”
Lobb nodded serenely. “Nothing less than I would expect you to expect of us, if our positions were reversed.”
She watched Jemma’s shoulders relax minutely from the corner of her eye, and then felt her own tension somewhat release. “As long as we understand each other.”
“Perfectly.” Agnes squeezed Lobb’s shoulders.
“Thank you for stepping up.” Jemma looked between the two of them. “It’s not easy.”
“If life is easy, one is probably dead,” he said with a shrug.
“Well said.” Robin nodded approvingly. “Now, what other information do you have for us?”
***
She should have known it was too easy.
The amount of times they’d gone through the broken grate without hassle or fear of being caught had finally caught up with them. Robin rounded the last corner that led into the ditch by the wall, and then hastily flung herself backward so as not to be seen. She trod on Jemma’s toes in the process. Much slapped her hand over Jemma’s mouth to stifle her grunt, and Robin took the whack on her shin from her staff without complaint.
“What is it?” Much whispered.
“Men at the grate,” Robin said, pulling Much’s hood up and over her forehead to hide her fac
e. “Someone must have seen us come through, or the Sheriff’s finally gotten ‘round to fixing it.”
“The other gates are too heavily guarded for us to try to get through without being recognized.” Jemma tipped her head to the side. “Even if you don’t look a thing like your wanted poster, three women trying to leave at this time of night? They’d never let us out.”
Robin ran her fingers along her bowstring where it pressed against her chest as she thought. “We can’t go through the wall and we can’t go under it. Much?”
“Over it. Right.” She closed her eyes. Robin knew it was so she could see the route they needed more easily in her mind’s eye.
Jemma shuffled around Robin to peek out at the men by the wall. She had to squint to see in the low light from the moon overhead, but she could tell they didn’t have tools, nor did they seem to be doing any sort of work.
“They’re not working on the wall or the grate, they’re waiting for something.”
“Someone,” Robin corrected softly. “Us.” She made a circular motion with her index finger at the houses around them. “We’ve no idea how many have seen us use that grate as a crossing point. We don’t know who might have talked.”
“Sherwood comes closest to the wall by the dressmaker’s shop,” Much said as she opened her eyes. “The trees practically overhang there. It’s our best chance to get out.”
Robin gave her a gentle shove on the shoulder. “Lead the way. Fast and quiet.”
“Keep up,” she shot back with a smirk.
“Cheeky little shite,” Jemma muttered. “She gets that from you.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Robin returned as they hurried after Much back the way they’d come.
While Robin prided herself on knowing Nottingham well enough to travel by both rooftop and street level, even she was lost at the many twists, turns, and loops Much took them on. She did it out of necessity—each time she’d think they were getting close to where they would cross the wall, Much had to steer them in the opposite direction from a group of the Sheriff’s men on patrol.
Lady of Sherwood Page 15
