The later into the night it became, the more Robin’s shoulders wanted to hunch up around her ears, and the more she couldn’t shake the feeling of a target on her back.
They were three streets away when Much retreated back around a corner with a soft curse.
“We go up. The longer we stay, the more likely it is we get caught. I’m not spending what’s left of the night in the Sheriff’s jail only to see the hangman in the morning.” Robin braced herself and cupped her hands together. “Up you go.”
Jemma handed Much her staff to hold while Robin gave her a boost up to where she could hang onto the roof and scramble on proper. Much handed the weapon up to her, looking uncertainly at Robin.
“What’s wrong, Much?” she asked softly.
“I don’t like heights.” Much looked steadfastly at Robin’s boots.
“You’ve balance like a cat; I’ve seen you.” She steadied herself and lightly slapped her thigh. “We’ll keep you safe. Promise. But you’ve got to trust us. Step where we step and jump when we jump. Aye?”
Much’s face had gone ghastly white, though she sucked in a deep breath, and drew herself up to her full height. She darted forward, using Robin’s thigh as a step to jump enough for Jemma to grab her wrist and help her the rest of the way. Robin used part of an old, half-broken chicken coop to get a leg up, and then clapped Much on the shoulder when they all stood near the top of the house.
“Take the rear, Jem. Much?”
She gripped the edges of her coat with white knuckles, though she met Robin’s eyes determinedly.
“Don’t look down.”
The three of them started off along the roof. Robin was grateful the houses were tightly packed—only a foot or so distance between them—and though she heard Much stumble once or twice, the other girl seemed to be doing well with her fear.
She could see the wall now. They were almost there. Only a few more steps and they were home free back to the safety of Sherwood. There, they could discuss new entry points with the others.
The bottom fell out of Robin’s world.
Her bowstring tightened painfully across her chest—Much must have tried to save her from falling by grabbing her bow—before it gave way with a snap. The side of her neck by her jaw blazed with fire on the recoil, and she landed hard on her front, her bow skittering away across the floor. Dazed and struggling to breathe, she rolled partially on her side in an effort to give her chest some room to expand. It finally did, though not before dark spots danced across her vision, and a ringing sounded in her ears.
“This is it, then?”
Robin discreetly moved all her limbs to make sure nothing was broken before pushing herself up, only to be forced back down on her belly by a boot between her shoulders. Her back ached in protest. She curled her hands into fists to avoid having her fingers stepped on as another set of boots came into view.
“This is what’s given the Sheriff so much trouble? This wee thing?”
She said nothing as a large, greasy man crouched in front of her.
“Looks like ye could snap her in half without tryin’.” He laughed. He reached out with a grubby hand and touched her hair, marveling at her braids. “Tryin’ to look like a boy, eh?”
“Go get the Sheriff’s men, Roddy,” said a new voice from above her. “So we can get our reward.”
“All right, Ollie. Back before you know it.”
“Take your time. She’s not goin’ anywhere.”
The boot moved only far enough to prod her in the side. She rolled onto her back and let out an ‘oof’ as someone nearly twice her weight sat on her, effectively pinning her to the floor. Commotion from the street wafted through both the open window and the hole in the roof as Roddy called for the Sheriff’s men.
He gripped her chin hard enough to bruise and forced her head back. Robin punched the closest part of him she could hit. He moved his fingers just so, and she choked on her next breath.
“None o’ that, now. You just let me look at you.”
Robin froze, and her blood ran cold. The look in his eye was the same one she remembered from those men at The Gilded Crown, the ones who’d taken Maggie until she’d come along and made herself a better prospect.
“Hands out. Out. Don’t need you pullin’ no knife.” He deprived her of air until she complied, her hands still knotted into fists.
“Bitch like you ain’t good for a civilized society,” he continued, using his free hand to paw at the closures on the front of her jacket. “Gives other girls ideas. Teaches ‘em stuff they don’t need to be learnin’. Makes ‘em forget their place.”
She tried to remember the last time she’d been truly scared for herself. She could still feel the terror in her veins that night in Lockesly when, as the manor burned, two of Gisborne’s soldiers had tried to wrestle Jemma to the ground.
Jemma.
The same Jemma who had dropped down through the hole in the ceiling Robin had fallen through, and now stood like an avenging angel with her staff raised. She held it with both hands, reared back, and swung through. It connected with Ollie’s head with a sickening thunk. Robin turned her face as best she could, and something warm sprayed across her forehead near her hairline.
Ollie toppled to the side, and Robin scrambled out from underneath him. She was unsteady enough on her feet that stopping Jemma’s next swing nearly took her back to the floor.
“No. No, Jem.” She shook her head. “I’m safe. Every bone in my body aches something fierce, but I’m safe and whole and alive.”
“He was going to—he would have—”
Jemma’s wild look worried Robin on a visceral level. She let go of the staff to take Jemma’s face between her palms, thumbs brushing away her tears before they could fall.
“I’m right here,” Robin said softly. “Hale and hearty and ready to fight another day because of you. We’ve made it this far without taking a life, and while I’ve no doubt this piece of shite forfeited his years ago, that’s not our decision to make. You walloped him a good one. He’ll not forget that anytime soon.”
“Hey!”
The pair of them looked up. Much’s head and shoulders stuck out from the edge of the hole.
“The Sheriff’s men are almost here. We should move. Now.”
Confident Jemma wasn’t about to commit murder on her behalf without an ongoing incident, Robin retrieved her bow. There wasn’t enough time for her to get her spare bowstring off her wrist and string it, so she’d just have to carry it, instead.
Jemma gave the man on the floor another solid whack to the head to ensure he wouldn’t make a nuisance of himself. Robin shoved the table directly under the hole in the roof. Her bow went first, followed by Jemma’s staff, and then the two of them. There was quite the commotion from the street below, and Robin ignored all of it to chase Much the last several yards to the wall.
Much didn’t hesitate to launch herself toward the nearest hanging tree, catching a branch with both arms and her upper chest. Once she was seated and stable, bow and staff were thrown to her once again.
More shouting erupted behind them. Robin and Jemma leapt as the first of the Sheriff’s men came through the hole in the roof in pursuit.
They crawled across the branches to the other side of the trunk and shimmied down to the ground. Much had a white-knuckle grip on Robin’s coat sleeve, and Jemma looked half ready to go back to give them a piece of her mind and staff.
Robin pushed them further into the forest. “Go.”
Jemma hesitated.
“I’ll be right behind you. Go.”
“Don’t make me come back for you or I’ll carry you home.”
She snorted. Still, she waited until Jemma and Much wandered further in, searching for a familiar path home, to creep around the base of the trunk. She kept to the shadows and peered up through the darkness and branches at the men on top of the wall. They wouldn’t chance tracking them into Sherwood at night if they were smart.
It had been
too close for comfort, and it only reinforced what she already knew—for every one person willing to help them, there was at least one or more willing to do anything to reap the reward money on her head.
Shivering, Robin gripped her bow tightly with both hands, and then melted back into the safety of the forest.
Word had spread like wildfire through Nottingham over the next few weeks at how close the Sheriff had come to capturing the outlaw. Many scoffed, sure the bumbling idiot would never catch her, even with Gisborne’s aid.
“Everyone says they sit in the Sheriff’s house in the middle of Nottingham and plot over the best ways to catch you,” Kitty said, excited to be the one relaying the gossip this time. “The candlestick maker thinks you won’t be caught until you’re dead, and half the market thinks you’d rather be dead than be caught by those two.”
Robin’s eyebrows crawled up her forehead. She ran her fingers through Ginny’s hair to ease the tangles, and then started again on the four-strand braid Jemma tried to teach her.
“Is there any suspicion about who might be feeding us information?” Will asked. He sat on the grass, Graham perched on one thigh as they worked at picking through a pile of various bird feathers for any Robin might be able to use as fletching.
Kitty shook her head. “No. Lobb says nobody quite knows who it might be, and nobody’s willing to single anyone out yet.”
“Bad form to get your neighbor hanged for something they didn’t do, apparently,” Jemma muttered. “Go the other way with that one, Robin.”
“Didn’t stop anyone from blaming me for a murder I didn’t commit.” She did as she was told, and the braid started to take shape.
Will snorted quietly.
“Don’t you start with me.” Robin reached out to prod him gently in the back with the toe of her boot.
“Oh, I’ll start with whoever I please. That one won’t fly straight; better put it in the other pile.” His voice gentled as he talked with Graham.
“Cheeky little shites, the lot of you, I swear.” She momentarily lost track of which bit of hair was supposed to be woven around which, and shot Jemma a plaintive look. Jemma took pity on her, guiding her hands for a few twists.
“Oh, there was one other thing.” Kitty’s forehead screwed up in concentration. “Someone who’s related to someone who works in the Sheriff’s house said that there have been a lot of letters sent out to London. And a lot of letters coming back from London, too.”
Robin noted, out of the corner of her eye, how Will straightened, and then forced himself to relax.
“Maybe the good Sheriff has himself an acquaintance in London,” she said with a calmness she didn’t entirely feel. “Perhaps he’s asking for advice?”
“I would imagine the king has better things to do than consult some backwoods Sheriff about an outlaw problem he can’t solve on his own,” Jemma said flatly. “Especially if he’s told him they’re women.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Will asked without turning around.
“Then we’ll welcome His Majesty with open arms if he decides to visit Sherwood Forest.” Robin’s tone was firm. “And take whatever punishment he sees fit to hand us, provided we get the chance to tell our side of the story.” She finished Ginny’s braid and tied it off with the yellow ribbon she and Jemma had bought when they’d first moved to Nottingham. “I have to believe His Majesty is as fair and just as we’ve always heard.”
“It certainly helps you haven’t actually killed anyone yet.” Will moved another feather into the ‘keep’ pile. “Earthly forgiveness for murder is difficult to come by.”
“If there’s one murder even God would forgive her for, it would be Gisborne’s,” Jemma said. “The man’s hands are covered in blood.”
“Mine should have been, too,” Robin said softly. “Whoever goes to Lobb next needs to ask him to stay abreast of the letters to London. I’d like to know more about that. Seeing one of those letters would be even better.”
“Are you going to start robbing messengers now?” Will finally looked over his shoulder. “That’s almost akin to robbing the clergy.”
“Well, in that case, we’ll leave it to you.” Robin crossed her arms over her chest. “You are the one who robbed the Bishop of Hereford, aren’t you?”
“For good reason.”
Jemma snorted so hard it sounded painful.
“Don’t you have a target to go pepper with arrows?” Will asked, a flush creeping up his neck.
“I’m waiting on feathers to fletch more arrows.” Robin grinned. “And quite enjoying the entertainment.”
It was then she learned Will’s blush went all the way to the tips of his ears. Robin laughed harder than she should have over it.
***
“Would you sit down?” Lia finally snapped.
Robin ignored her.
“Or at least go pace somewhere else?”
“Go shoot something?” Maggie suggested.
She couldn’t explain the itch she felt beneath her skin, the idea that something had gone horribly, horribly awry. But they were all here, weren’t they? Gathered around the fire? Maggie next to Kitty, Lia—Graham and Ginny were in Tuck’s cottage, all warmly snug in their bed—Tuck himself with a tankard of honey mead, and Jemma next to her.
“Where’s Will and Elena?” she asked.
“Alan hasn’t come home yet.” Lia looked up from the fire, meeting Robin’s glare with one of her own. “Will went to Lobb. Now will you sit on your arse?”
“Can I sit on yours?” Robin snapped. She dropped with a huff next to Jemma, who promptly passed her a flagon of honey mead.
“Have a drink and stop worrying. At last for a little while.” Jemma made herself comfortable against Robin’s shoulder with a sigh.
“William’s fine,” Tuck added. “The boy can look after himself.”
Petulant and irritated, Robin pulled her hood up and crossed her arms over her chest. Jemma chortled, and it was only the darkness and the depths of her hood that allowed Robin her small smile in relative peace.
For long moments, all that was heard was the crackle of the fire and snippets of quiet conversation. Robin was almost sure Jemma was mostly asleep, and that Kitty was well on her way to being drunk.
The clanging of a bell rent the air.
Tuck jerked upright, caught his foot on the hem of his robe, and toppled backward over the log he’d been sitting on. Jemma straightened and looked wildly around. Robin stood and tried to pinpoint where it was coming from.
“That’s the bell on my cottage,” Tuck said as he did his best to right himself. “It’s what Alan does to call me back from wherever I am in the forest.”
Robin was the first one sprinting down the path toward Tuck’s cottage. From the sounds of it, the others weren’t far behind her.
She burst out of the greenwood into the clearing that held Tuck’s cottage to find Alan pacing by the bell near the door. Alan, upon seeing Robin, grabbed her by the arm and all but shoved her inside where it was better lit.
Both Graham and Ginny were sleepily rubbing their eyes from their cluster of blankets and pallets in the corner. Robin ignored them and focused on Alan’s hands. The long, thin fingers, normally so sure and steady, shook as he went through his motions to make words.
“Say it again, I didn’t catch it,” Robin said, dread pooling in her belly like lead. She had caught it, but she needed to see it again to make sure of it.
The others burst in through the open door as Alan finished repeating himself.
“The Sheriff set a trap—a man by the name of Higgins who lives at the end of Lobb’s alley—has seen us come and go. Higgins sent for some men as soon as he saw Will arrive. He tried to fight his way out, and he was captured.” She looked over at Jemma. “Two of the Sheriff’s men are seriously injured, and Will’s…” She paused, her mouth suddenly dry. “Will is to hang in the morning at the gallows tree.”
Jemma eased between Kitty and Maggie and held her hand out. Robin took
it without pause and squeezed.
“I’m not leaving him there to die,” Robin said, her eyes lingering on each pale face. “I understand if any of you don’t—if you don’t want to risk it, but I’m not leaving him. I promised you, those who came from Lockesly, that I wouldn’t leave anyone behind. I’m not leaving him, either.”
“Do you have a plan?” Lia asked. She was all business as usual, but there was an edge to it Robin wasn’t used to seeing.
“Not yet,” she admitted.
“Then we best get to it, hadn’t we?” Maggie clapped her hands together. “We’ve only got ‘til morning.”
***
Robin stood at the very edge of Sherwood Forest and looked at the gallows the Sheriff had constructed overnight. It stood between the wall and the woods, put in that very place to mock the outlaws.
“He’s awful sure of himself, ain’t he?” Jemma asked, leaning on her staff.
“I would be too, in his shoes.” She strummed her thumb across her bowstring, just to hear it sing. “The only thing we really have on our side, Jem, is surprise.”
“It’ll be enough. It’ll have to be.”
She sighed deeply and looked toward the eastern sky. The barest traces of the dawn could be found near the horizon as their one night of hasty planning drew to an end. Either it would work or it wouldn’t. If it didn’t, Robin was quite sure all of them would be dead or captured by the end of it.
Given the choice between the two, she’d rather die than spend any time as a captive of the Sheriff and Gisborne.
Your mother chose that, too, her mind whispered to her.
“Best get in to place, Jemma. It’s almost time.”
Jemma tugged her into a hug and whispered, “I am proud to call you my friend, Robin of Lockesly. And if this is the day that God calls us home, then there’s no one I’d rather go with than you.”
They clasped forearms as the warriors of old did when they parted, and Robin couldn’t help but think of Boadicea once more. She’d gone into battle to protect her people and her home, and while the manor was gone, some of its people still lived.
Lady of Sherwood Page 16
