29. Laurel
LAUREL
“They’re coming!” Teresa’s shrill voice split the air. “Everyone’s coming!”
I froze.
Everyone? They weren’t supposed to send everyone.
The horn had barely sounded. The usual strategy was to send one or two runners to scout the area first, then save the stronger players to block the exits once they found me.
That was the strategy I’d planned for. Apparently, Little John had either learned my strategy or else had decided that after three years of losing to me, strategy was less important than overwhelming force.
“Go, Laurel, go,” Peter urged in a whisper, scanning the foliage surrounding the chapel.
Several people burst into the clearing all at once.
Dalton and Peter sprang into action, but there were too many for them to hold back.
Teresa couldn’t help physically, and there were five on Little John’s team.
My intended exit was blocked. I couldn’t retreat because this was the starting line.
I was hidden behind several shrubs, but it was a meager hiding place and wouldn’t serve me for long.
I was cornered.
Blast.
I couldn’t lose. Being caught within a few minutes of the horn would be beyond humiliating.
“Where is she?” Little John called loudly. “She’s here, I know it. Fan out, boys. Find her.”
Dalton and Peter grabbed at legs right and left, but both ended up pinned. We were outnumbered. I hardly dared breathe as Little John’s team spread through the clearing, searching behind bushes, trees, and wood piles.
Then, with a stroke of brilliance, my eyes landed on the chapel. There was no rule that said we couldn’t go inside the church. Technically, the chapel was still inside the playing area.
Little John stood on the steps leading up to the chapel door, scanning the clearing. I scurried around the side, crouched then vaulted through an open window…and landed on top of a table.
Most unfortunately, the table had lit candles on it.
They toppled over me, spilling hot wax across my arms and clothing as I crashed down with enough noise to wake the dead. I opened my eyes and saw Friar Tuck, who’d leapt back from the cushion he had been kneeling on to pray.
“Argh, Laurel!” he shouted, exasperation written all over his face.
Shouts rose outside at once. “She’s in the chapel. Get her!”
“Sorry, Father,” I said breathlessly, scrambling to my feet. “I’ll repent on the Sabbath, I promise.”
I sprinted for the stairs to the bell tower, ignoring Friar Tuck’s lament of, “You never even attend services.”
The front door crashed open, and Little John, along with one of his sons, stood in the entryway. I’d never reach the stairs in time.
“We’ve got her,” Little John roared in triumph.
I skidded to a halt and switched directions. I hurdled over the wooden pews and came to a stop in the empty fireplace. Little John and his son were too large to follow me up the chimney. I planted my hands and feet on opposite sides and began to shimmy upward.
Little John tried to squeeze into the fireplace and reach after me, but I was too quick. A loud, metallic scraping noise followed me as I climbed, but I didn’t slow down to find out what was causing it.
“Paul, take the stairs,” Little John cried. “Don’t let her get away. I’ll guard here. We’ll get her this time. She doesn’t have anywhere to go.”
Up, up, up I climbed. The smoky scent of the chimney caught in my throat, and ash coated my clothes in sooty blackness, but I worked my way through the tight space until I reached the top.
I pulled myself out onto the roof, coughing, blinking, and trying not to think too much about what Friar Tuck was going to say once the game was over.
I looked back and immediately saw the source of the scraping noise.
One of Friar Tuck’s metal candelabras had somehow become hooked onto my quiver. I tugged it free and stared at it for half a second. Oh, I was going to be in so much trouble. Friar Tuck would undoubtedly claim I had broken the eighth commandment by stealing. From the church, no less.
I saw Paul struggling to squeeze out of the bell tower and onto the roof. The slats around the bell were too narrow for him, and for the moment, he was stuck.
Good.
I scanned the area below. Little John’s team had sent everyone rushing after me at once, which meant no one was guarding the outer perimeter.
I saw Teresa still seated on the tall stump where we had stationed her.
With her shortened leg, she couldn’t move quickly, but she didn’t need to. She only needed to use her hands.
I pulled the ball of light rope from the bottom of my quiver, and several arrows clattered onto the roof as I did. I caught one between my teeth while the others rolled off the slanted roof and plummeted to the ground below.
I knotted the rope quickly around the shaft of the arrow, then raised my bow.
“Watch out, Teresa,” I yelled.
I sighted and released. The arrow flew through the air, trailing the rope behind it, and thudded into the stump just beneath Teresa’s crossed legs.
“Tie it,” I screamed, glancing over my shoulder as Paul began to free himself from between the bell tower’s slats.
I fastened my end of the rope to the cross at the top of the chapel. Paul had finally freed himself and was teetering across the roof, arms held wide for balance.
I hoped Teresa had had enough time. I couldn’t wait any longer. I hooked the stolen candelabra over the rope and dove off the roof.
The candelabra caught. I gripped two of its arms as it made a zinging sound and carried me down the rope. Teresa had done an excellent job securing the line. Peter and Dalton whooped gleefully as I flew over everyone’s heads, and someone from the other team shouted, “No!”
As I neared the ground, I let go, hit the dirt, and rolled to absorb the shock.
Then I sprang to my feet and sprinted toward the unguarded outside perimeter.
Several onlookers cheered as they saw me approaching the finish line.
I lifted my arms in triumph, then heard pounding footsteps behind me.
I turned and saw the opposing team thundering toward me, with my teammates hot on their heels.
But it was too late for anyone to prevent my victory.
I pretended to yawn, then walked very slowly, backward, over the finish line. My teammates all began whooping at once. They ignored the soot covering me from head to toe, lifted me onto their shoulders, and paraded me around our small village center. Another year undefeated added to my record.
“Way to go!”
“That was amazing.”
“You flew off the chapel.”
“I thought Friar Tuck was going to faint.”
Little John’s team shuffled up, clearly disappointed, but they were good sports about losing. Paul Little slapped my back. “Well done, Laurel. That was your best escape yet. We’ll get you next year.”
“You can try,” I goaded, but I shook his hand.
Several small children began chanting, “Laurel. Laurel. Laurel.”
I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t Isabella.
I wasn’t scrubbing floors. I wasn’t lying to servants or stealing scraps of paper from Prince John’s rubbish.
I wasn’t thinking about anything other than victory.
I was Laurel of Locksley, Robin Hoods’ daughter. And I had won.
“That girl will be the death of me,” I heard Friar Tuck grumble. Then he called out, “Laurel! You owe me a new candelabra.”
I couldn’t stop grinning.
After I had finally been set down and the crowd had dissipated, dinner was announced, and most people moved off, still talking excitedly about the games.
I wasn’t hungry. I was still too thrilled with my success.
I changed out of my sooty clothes into a clean tunic and leggings, then used one of the rain barrels to splash my face and hair clean.
“Been gone so long you can’t remember where we have the picnic?” Peter’s voice came from behind me.
My face was still dripping, so I kept my eyes scrunched shut and reached one hand toward his voice. “No, just not hungry. Lend me a handkerchief?”
A cloth was placed in my hand, and I wiped my face dry.
“Good game today,” Peter said. “That was brilliant.” His voice brightened with admiration. “You should’ve seen the look on Dad’s face when you flew right over his head. They’ll be talking about that one for years.”
I threw the handkerchief back at him. “Good thing Teresa is handy with knots. And that you can wrestle down my pursuers. I was glad you were on my side.”
Peter blushed faintly again. “So, you don’t want to eat?”
“Nah. I figured I would just go for a walk or something.” Peter fell into step beside me. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted him there or not, but I supposed he could follow along. I was in a good enough mood that I felt equally content having company or not.
“Remember that time we tried to dig a bear pit?” Peter asked suddenly. “Just there, wasn’t it?” He pointed.
I chuckled. “Oh, yeah. We dug for three days, then covered it with sticks and leaves.”
“And we caught Lincoln,” Peter finished.
I laughed. “He was furious.”
“He still checks the ground whenever he walks past this spot, you know.”
“Good. He should.” We found the shallow depression where the old pit had been and sat down inside it, our shoulders nearly brushing.
The ground was cool beneath us, and bits of grass poked through the dirt.
For a little while, it was easy to fall back into old memories.
We traded stories back and forth for some time, recounting some of the things we had done together as children.
“And remember the time we hid up in the trees and dropped acorns on anyone who passed under us?” I asked.
“That was not one time,” Peter said. “We did that at least once a week for a year.” He laughed, and I laughed along with him.
This was nice. Better than nice, actually. It was a comfortable, familiar, back-and-forth sort of conversation that didn’t require me to think too much. With Peter, I could remember being young and careless, when times were simpler.
Then Peter ruined it.