5. Laurel
LAUREL
Imarveled at how easily Baron could lie and the realization unsettled me far more than being buried alive had.
He had always seemed so honest—painfully so, at times.
I hadn’t trusted him when I’d first met him, but then I’d begun to take it for granted that I could trust anything that he said.
Yet here he was, spinning a convincing tale with righteous indignation, his every word landing exactly where it needed to.
If I hadn’t known better, I might have believed him myself.
Did I really know him as well as I thought?
The notion slithered uncomfortably through my mind.
I had always considered myself the manipulator, the trickster, the one who blurred truth and lies until even I could hardly tell where one ended and the other began.
Baron had felt like my opposite, always solid, dependable, and immovable.
And yet I was suddenly aware that he could be just as manipulative and deceitful as I was when the situation demanded it.
The realization both thrilled and frightened me.
As he berated the two soldiers, his voice sharp with authority, I felt an insect crawl slowly up my arm.
Its tiny legs sent pinpricks across my skin, and every instinct screamed at me to swat it away or at least raise my head to look and see if it was dangerous or not.
But I didn’t dare. I forced myself to remain utterly still, even as it traced a leisurely path toward my shoulder.
I had no idea who might be watching, or how closely.
If everyone else could pretend to be dead, so could I.
The most terrifying moment came when one of the men approached and nudged my boot.
My heart lurched. I was certain he would kick at my ribs, roll me over, or try to determine for himself that I was dead.
I braced myself for it, terrified that my body would betray me with a gasp or a flinch.
I was honestly shocked they hadn’t done more, given how difficult a prisoner I had been for them.
Perhaps Baron’s performance had truly convinced them.
Or perhaps they were simply eager to be done with the whole miserable affair.
Either way, I remained still.
Baron slipped all of us into bags, one by one, then placed us in a shallow hollow in the ground.
The burlap scraped against my skin as he maneuvered me, and I caught the faint scent of earth and old grain woven into the fabric.
When the first shovelful of dirt landed on my bag, I nearly sucked in a sharp breath.
With each load of earth that followed, fine particles sifted down through the weave and dusted my face and hair.
It took every shred of self-restraint not to cough as the dirt tickled my nose and tried to edge into my mouth.
As we were buried, the sounds began to fade.
Voices dulled and footsteps became muffled.
Finally, all noise was cut off entirely, as though the world above had ceased to exist. I raised my hands in front of my face and pressed the bag outward just enough to create a small pocket of air against the cool, crushing weight of the soil.
The dirt was heavier than I had expected.
It pressed in from all sides, firm and unyielding, making it difficult to move even an inch.
My air was limited, and I needed to conserve every breath.
It was a blessing that the graves were shallow; any more weight and I would have been crushed. How were the others faring?
Pitch-black darkness surrounded me, thick and absolute.
Claustrophobia began to creep in, curling tight around my chest. I closed my eyes, though it made little difference, and pictured myself back in Sherwood Forest. I pictured myself bundled in thick blankets during winter, the crackle of a fire nearby, and the scent of pine hanging in the air.
I clung to that image fiercely, refusing to think about the pressing mound of earth above me.
I drew air in slow, measured breaths.
This was just a waiting game, that was all. It was just a game.
I could wait.
I counted slowly to two thousand, then back down again, letting the numbers anchor me.
Baron and his two companions had to be gone by now, along with the cart carrying the other bodies.
When I judged enough time had passed, I drew a deep breath, reached down with trembling fingers, and struggled to pull the knife from my boot where the blade snagged for a moment before sliding free.
I took one last deep breath of air, then slit open the bag.
Dirt immediately poured in, filling my sleeves and collar, but I clawed upward, digging with hands and elbows until my fingers broke through the final layer of soil. Cool air rushed in as I dragged myself free of my grave.
The others must have felt my movements, because soon they too were clawing their way to the surface. I brushed dirt from my face and blinked as Father swung down from his lookout position, the rest of the Merry Men sliding down from the trees behind him like shadows coming to life.
“Good timing!” Father said cheerfully. “They’re all gone. I was just about to come dig you up myself.”
“We’ll need to remember this idea for when we have someone we need to scare,” Will Scarlet laughed. “I rather like the notion of dressing up in rags and creeping out of graves in the dead of night. It would give anyone the collywobbles!”
“It gave me the creeps just watching it in daylight,” Will Stutely muttered.
“What an actor that Baron is, though!” Dale said. “Did you hear him?”
“Even I almost believed him!” Alan added.
“Yes,” Father agreed dryly, his gaze flicking to me. “He sounded a little too believable. You had better be right about him, Laurel. We’re taking an awful risk, and you’ll be the one in the most danger if he turns on us.”
“He’d never betray me,” I said without hesitation.
“I hope you’re right.” Father pulled me into a tight hug. “Be safe. I love you.”
I hugged him back just as fiercely. “I love you too. Good luck and write soon.”
Father, Alan, and Will Stutely departed at once. Dale bound his arm and left soon after with Will Scarlet. Little John was weak, barely able to stand, so Lincoln and James volunteered to help him back to Sherwood Forest before beginning their work as messengers.
I watched them limp away, my heart tugging at the sight, then turned my attention toward Prince John’s castle.
I couldn’t approach in my Merry Men uniform.
I slipped off my cloth belt, turned my tunic inside out so the plain brown peasant cloth showed, then retied the belt.
I tore a swath of burlap from one of the grave bags and wrapped it around my hair, then fashioned a rough skirt to conceal my unladylike leggings.
Lincoln was the tailor of our group, and he always made certain we could disguise ourselves when needed.
The double-sided uniforms had been a nuisance for him to create, but in moments like this, I was deeply grateful for his foresight.
Within minutes, I looked like a simple farm girl.
No need to dirty my face—I was already filthy from head to toe.
By late afternoon, the castle loomed before me.
I approached the drawbridge and hesitated. A bored guard looked me over, taking in my ragged appearance. “Let me guess,” he said. “You’re looking for a job?”
I nodded humbly. “Yes, sir.”
“Go in and ask for Agnes. She’ll take care of you. They always need new maids.” He waved me through. “And wash up before you see her. She won’t take kindly to someone arriving like that. The washroom is just over there.” He pointed to a bath house then turned away.
That was it?
I had expected questions and suspicion, an interrogation, at the very least. Prince John must be a greater fool than I’d thought if he allowed anyone through his gates so easily.
I walked in, bustled along by the many servants running to and fro, laden down with linens or chamber pots.
I felt as though I traversed every inch of the castle three times over while searching for Agnes.
One servant after another claimed to have seen her, each sending me in a different direction.
Even with my excellent memory, I found myself turned around in the twisting corridors.
It wasn’t until after nightfall that I finally located her.
“Good evening,” I said politely. “Would you be Agnes?”
She curled her lip at my appearance. Evidently, my hasty washing hadn’t met her standards. “I would. Who’s asking?”
“Isabella, mum.”
Agnes was plump and middle-aged, with iron-gray hair pulled into a tight bun and a no-nonsense air that brooked no argument. “I need help cleaning the barracks,” she said briskly. “One silver coin a week. One day off in ten, plus festival week. Is that agreeable?”
“Yes, mum,” I said, privately aghast. Did people truly live on so little? I took bags filled with gold from nobles constantly; did they really expect peasants to live on a mere silver coin each week?
She briskly led me to a storage room, pulled a bundle of clothes from a shelf, and shoved them at me. “Wear these then give them to the laundress when they’re dirty. She’ll replace them as needed.” She piled on a different bundle. “For sleeping.”
I accepted the shifts and Agnes eyed my boots with unveiled disapproval then added some simple flat shoes to my pile.
I fumbled to balance everything and tottered after her as she marched through the hallway.
She continued to speak in a brisk, scripted way, as though she gave this same lecture several times a day and had done so for years.
“Get up at the first bell of the morning. If you sleep in once, it’s a warning.
Second time, you’re dismissed. You’ll be trained for one week and then get assigned your own duties.
A supervisor will oversee your work. First time it’s inadequate will be a warning, second time you’re dismissed. Understand?”
I nodded, then realized she may not be able to see my head from behind the mountain of fabric hiding me. “Yes, mum.”
“Go on then. Ask for Walter. He’ll assign you sleeping quarters. He’s the one who is always wearing gloves. Scat!” She shooed me away.
So off I went again, arms still full, searching for a man who wore gloves.
It felt like an hour before I finally found the right person.
Several of the courtiers wore gloves, which was confusing, as I didn’t know what occupation Walter had.
I assumed something to do with servant management, but I knew so little of castle protocol that I was ignorant as to how high of a station that was.
The courtiers I did stop to ask cringed away from me as though I was vermin.
Most didn’t even deign to respond, clearly affronted that a lowly peasant dared to speak to them.
When I finally found Walter, he assigned me a sleeping area down in the cellar with the other servants. All the other servants were fast asleep by the time I crawled onto my musty smelling straw tick. It was nearly midnight and I only had a few hours to sleep before the bell would sound.
But I was inside the castle.
My mission had begun.