16. Baron
BARON
Iplodded down the hall, my boots dragging more than usual. It felt as though that day would never end. Every hour had stretched longer than the one before it, and I’d spent most of it waiting for some disaster to strike.
I’d fretted so much about the consequences of putting Laurel in the pillory that morning that every time anyone approached me, I’d held my breath, prepared to hear that her identity had been compromised.
Every hurried footstep in the corridor sent my mind racing to the worst case scenarios, and every servant who whispered and fell silent when I passed made me wonder whether someone had noticed too much.
I had played my part as sheriff, and Laurel had played hers, but the performance had been a dangerous one.
It only took one person looking too closely to recognize Laurel as Robin Hood’s daughter, then everything would unravel.
To make the day worse, I had drilled my platoon for hours and overseen punishments for two men-at-arms who’d been disrespectful. Before meeting Laurel, I’d never been bothered by punishing insubordinate soldiers. It had simply been part of command. A necessary part, according to my father.
Now, the harshness of the punishments disgusted me.
I kept my face hard through it all, because that was what everyone expected from me, but each command tasted worse than the last. I hated the way the men flinched when I spoke.
I hated the way my captains watched me, waiting to see how much cruelty I would approve.
But most of all, I hated that I sounded exactly like my father when the situation required it.
The soldiers constantly came to me with minor squabbles, and my captains and officers seemed wholly incapable of dealing with anything on their own.
Every petty complaint somehow became my responsibility and the servants were no better.
They scattered anytime I entered a room, their faces going pale as they dipped into hurried bows and curtsies before fleeing in the opposite direction.
Being disliked and feared by so many people didn’t bother me much.
I had Laurel and the Merry Men and didn’t need anyone else.
That thought alone carried me through the final stretch of the day and down the last dim corridor toward my quarters.
At some point, I would be able to end this charade and return to them.
I pulled out the key to my room, inserted it into the lock, and turned.
The heavy door creaked open, and I stepped inside.
At least half of the candles had gone out, so the light in my rooms was dim and flickering.
Shadows shifted along the stone walls, and the air smelled faintly of old wax, leather, and the reports I’d been avoiding for three days.
I closed the door behind me and locked it again, then moved down the short hallway into the main room.
Laurel was there, sitting at my desk.
The chair was tipped back onto two legs, and her bare feet were propped up on a tall pile of papers. She was perusing some of the reports handed in by my captains as though she had every right to be there, and when I entered, she merely glanced up over the top of the parchment.
“How did you get in here?” I asked, quite pleased to see her after such a long day.
“There’s no lock that can’t be picked,” Laurel said slyly.
“I shouldn’t be surprised by anything you tell me anymore.” A smile crept onto my face despite my best attempt to feign sternness. I could never be around Laurel and not smile. “Pickpocket, thief, spy, burglar…”
“It’s only burglary if you take something.” She tossed my money pouch at me. “In this case, I was putting something back.”
I caught it and immediately noticed how light it was. I weighed it in my palm, then looked at her. “What did you buy? This is nearly empty.”
She shrugged, completely unabashed. “Oh, a new dress, a few knives, a couple of favors. Just the essentials for a simple girl like me.”
Then she flashed me that cocky grin of hers, the one that made it impossible to stay irritated with her, even when she was actively robbing me.
“Huh.” I dropped the pouch onto the desk. “So I’m giving up all my wages, my time, my sleep, and my previous life. I’m also constantly in danger of being discovered and betrayed. Remind me what I’m getting in return?”
“You get me,” Laurel said simply. “Unless you’d rather recall Leopold and have him stake a claim instead. But between you and me, I much prefer you to him.”
She tossed the reports back onto my desk, linked her fingers behind her head, and gazed around my room, taking in the drab stone walls, the plain floor, the bed, and the lack of anything resembling comfort. “You could do with a window or two in here. This is gloomy.”
“Sheriff’s privilege. They assigned me a top security room. Or it was a top security room until you came along with your lock-picking skills.”
She waved this away. “Oh, don’t worry. That lock took me at least fifteen seconds. You’re safe and sound.”
“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of a pickpocket’s company?”
Laurel swung her feet off the table, dropped the chair back onto all four legs, and stood.
The look she fixed on me sent a hard, sudden beat through my chest. She crossed the room slowly, and with every step she took, more of the day’s frustration slipped away.
By the time she reached me and leaned against my chest, tilting her face upward, the soldiers, the captains, the servants, and Prince John all felt very far away.
I moved to kiss her, but Laurel pulled a piece of parchment out of her sleeve and slapped it across my mouth.
“What, you think I broke into your room for that?” she asked, laughing. “Think again, Sheriff. I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, because I came here strictly on business.”
“You’re cruel,” I said, taking the parchment that had been swatted on my face.
She curtsied. “Why, thank you. I try my best.”
“You owe me after robbing me blind, you know.”
She grinned. “Fine.” She grabbed my shirt and pulled me down to kiss me fiercely for a few seconds, then let go. “Is that better?”
“Much.” I unfolded the crumpled parchment. It smelled faintly of old food and ashes, and I wrinkled my nose. “Where did you get this?”
“It really is amazing what Prince John will throw away, knowing that his current maid can’t read. I offered to help her this evening because she helped me out this morning, and I snuck that treasure out of the rubbish. Pretty productive day, don’t you think?”
Before I could answer, Laurel flopped onto my bed and immediately made a face. “This bed is awful. I don’t know how you can sleep at night.”
“With all the work I have to do, I don’t,” I grunted, already trying to decipher the scribbled lines. The handwriting was cramped and hurried, and the candlelight did nothing to help. I turned the parchment slightly, then frowned harder. “I can’t read this.”
“Of course you can’t, silly. It’s in French, so unless you learned somewhere…”
“Then why did you even fish this out of the rubbish?” I asked. “You can’t read it either, can you?”
“Oh no, I have no idea what it says. I was always too busy to sit down and learn another language.” She stared at me as though the meaning of the letter should be obvious anyway.
“So…” I looked down at the paper again, annoyed at the useless lines of ink. “What good is a letter if neither of us can read it?”
Laurel rolled her eyes, got off the bed, and snatched the parchment out of my hands. “You can read who it’s addressed to, can’t you?”
“To Prince John,” I answered. Any fool could tell that much.
She flourished the letter in front of me. “And who do you know that would write to Prince John in French?”
The implication dawned on me, and I was irritated that it had taken me so long to understand. I glanced toward the bottom of the page, where a very artistic and loopy signature sprawled across the parchment. The first letter stood out clearly.
P.
Of course.
“King Philip,” I said.
Laurel rolled up the paper and swatted it lightly across my hair. “I knew you would get there eventually. Now all we have to do is hand this off to James. Friar Tuck speaks French, and James can get it to him to be translated.”
I held out my hand to take it. Laurel nearly placed the letter in my palm, then snatched it back at the last second. “If you give it to James, you have to give me credit. I was the one who rummaged around in muck to find it and scraped food off it.”
“I would never dream of taking credit for your muck-rummaging,” I said dryly.
“I’m only letting you hand it in because it is your turn to meet James tomorrow night. If I’d found it earlier today, I would’ve given it to him myself.”
“Not everything is a competition.”
Laurel grinned. “If it were, I’d win.”
“Yes, I remember how well you did when it was you against me all those times you ran away from camp. How many of our fights did you win? None, last I recall.”
Laurel poked me in the chest. “You got lucky all those times. Want to go another round to be sure?”
I caught her hands and kissed her again. “No. I already won.”
Her fingers curled briefly around mine, and for a moment I closed my eyes, reveling that I had Laurel. She had chosen me. Then she gave my hand a squeeze and slipped away. “Get that to James without losing it, Sheriff. I went through a lot of unpleasantness to find it.”
“I am sure your heroic sacrifice will be remembered.”
“It had better be.”
The next day, I met with Prince John in his private quarters and found that he was in an unusually agitated mood all morning.
Papers lay scattered across his desk, and more than one had been torn in frustration.
His hair was slightly disordered, his robe hung loose at one shoulder, and every servant who came near the door did so in the same way they might approach a wild animal.
He yelled at anyone who interrupted him, snapped over the smallest delays, and muttered to himself while pacing between the table and the hearth.