Chapter 4
Ithought fast and leaned into the part I knew best—the sniveling, weak girl. “Where am I?” I asked in a high, innocent whine, then pointed at the tent. “I woke up and there was a strange man asleep in there.”
“Bilius!” someone spat, slinking past me to enter the tent and inspect his comrade. “Too much drink, no doubt.”
Nobody moved for a heartbeat; they seemed stunned that a prisoner would simply walk out. The pause broke as a rough hand closed on my arm. “Ouch, you’re hurting me!” I protested, plucking at his fingers and letting my voice tremble.
“Graves, we don’t even know—” one man started, but the man holding my arm yanked a coil of rope free and began lashing my wrists together in front of me.
“Wait, stop! Why are you tying me up?” I asked, batting my eyes in bewilderment. “Did I do something wrong? What’s happening? I insist on seeing the man in charge!”
With a final tug, Graves cinched the knots. “Lucky for you,” he said, “I’m taking you there now.”
He led me across the clearing to the great tent at the center where my previous hunch hardened into certainty when the flap parted and the Sheriff of Nottingham stepped out to greet me.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, just as Father had described, but this man had more silver than black in his hair, and he was heavier around the middle than I’d pictured.
He looked like an aged bear, still powerful and strong, but slower than he must’ve been in his younger days.
Nevertheless, he still carried the weight of authority and command.
The sheriff greeted me kindly and motioned for me to follow him into the massive tent. “Sit down, my dear, sit,” he purred, patting a wooden stool. I sank into it and folded my bound hands in my lap in a picture of disoriented sweetness.
“I’m sure you have questions,” he said smoothly. “And I have a few for you as well.”
“May I ask mine first?” I asked, eyes wide.
“Of course. Go ahead,” he answered, all courtesy and charm.
“Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here?” I sniffed, slipping into a slight accent I’d practiced with Dale.
Good acting was a trick almost as useful as a blade.
“I’m terribly frightened. Ma and Pa’ll be worried.
Look”—I held up my hands, the cuts and scrapes still fresh and obvious—“a brute throwed me from my bed right out the window.”
“And who are your parents?” the sheriff asked, quick as a hawk.
“Gerald and Pippi,” I replied without hesitating. “We just began work at the town tavern. We moved here from Barnsdale.”
The sheriff’s face shifted—first to suspicion, then to something cold and unyielding. “Just a moment, my dear.” He rose and hurried out. I strained to catch his hissed conversation with Graves.
“Are you sure it’s her? If we’ve taken the wrong girl, that whole town’ll be up in arms and we’ll be run out.”
“It’s her,” Graves answered. “Trevors says she was the girl with Robin Hood last year in Doncaster.”
A hot prick of panic flared. Last year, I had been in Doncaster with Father.
If someone recognized me, there would be no mercy.
Still, I had gotten out of worse. I’d slipped ropes, fooled guards, and escaped before.
I just needed to do it again. If they were gullible enough to believe my act, I could be back in the woods before sundown.
The sheriff returned, and whatever civility he had feigned before had evaporated. His smile hardened, his arms folding across his chest. “I’ll get straight to it,” he said, voice slick as oil. “You might know an old friend of mine. Robin Hood.”
“Oh yes, sir—I knows Robin Hood!” I piped up eagerly, letting the practiced flutter of my voice do the work. “Ma’s tells the tale how he busted her out of jail when Prince John taxed her near to death. A right brave chap he is. Why, I was just saying to my pa only the other day—”
The sheriff cut me off, the interruption a blade. “Are you his daughter?”
For a heartbeat my mouth went dry. I blinked wide, pretending genuine puzzlement. “Robin Hood’s daughter, sir? I didn’t know he had one. My pa’s Gerald—Pippi and Gerald—tavern folk. They’ll be worried.”
He stepped nearer, and I felt a pang of apprehension.
He had the upper hand, and my only defense was a feeble story that would crumble upon the slightest inspection.
Up close, I could smell the faint stench of old sweat in his cloak, coupled with the sharp tang of iron.
My brow knotted together and his gaze probed my face, slow and calculating, as if he had all the time in the world.
“Graves!” he barked.
Graves stepped forward into the tent, bringing the smell of woodsmoke and horse with him. “Sir?”
“Ride back to town,” the sheriff ordered.
“See if a Gerald and Pippi are employed at the tavern where this girl was found. If they exist, tell them their runaway daughter will be returned in the morning.” He fixed me with a look that promised consequences.
“If there is no such couple, as I suspect—” His voice went colder.
“—come back here and we’ll coax the truth out of this girl. ”
I bit the inside of my lip.
Graves left. The sheriff summoned two more guards, one narrow as a rail and the other as broad as a barrel, and told them to escort me back out and watch me until Graves returned. The stout one seized the rope and began to lead me off, the knots rasping against my raw wrists.
Outside, the sky was fading into evening.
Streaks of purple and pink bled into the coming dark.
The air tasted of damp earth and the sort of metal that hung around blacksmith shops.
All of this I observed while my mind whirred.
When Graves found Gerald and Pippi were figments of my imagination, my whole story would be snuffed out.
I needed to escape before he returned.