Chapter 14
Along the way to the sheriff’s immense tent, we had to dodge out of sight of the few night guards, but that was simple enough.
We used to play Escape and Evade regularly back in Sherwood Forest. Father ducked inside while I kept watch, and after a few minutes, Father emerged.
He pushed the sheriff forward with a knife at his back.
“Well, well, well, Blackwell, we meet again,” Father hissed in an undertone.
“My daughter had such a pleasant time here that we must return the favor! We’d like to issue you an invitation to come visit our camp. ”
I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my mouth.
The sheriff stood barefoot in the cold dirt, pinstriped nightclothes stretched tight across his round middle.
His hair stuck up in wild tufts and a faint crease from his pillow still marked his cheek.
His eyes, bleary and furious, darted around the camp as though searching for someone to blame for the indignity of being hauled out before his own men like this.
Father smiled at me. “Is there anything you wish to say to your host, my dear?”
I stepped forward and punched the sheriff across the jaw. “I think that sums it up.”
Father dug the tip of his knife into the sheriff’s back to urge him to walk forward. “Move it along there, Blackwell,” he jeered. “I can’t wait to say a few things to you myself.”
“You cad,” spat the sheriff quietly. “You think you can get away with this?” He then raised his voice to a booming shout. “It’s Robin Hood! He’s here! Raise the alarm!”
“Run, Laurel!” Father cried, and dragged the sheriff backward with an arm around his throat, knife still at his back. I didn’t need to be told twice. I turned and raced away, holding the end of the chain in one hand and my knives in the other as I sprinted for the protection of the forest.
Dorian stepped out in front of me, directly in my path.
Without hesitation, I dropped and slid between his outstretched legs.
With one smooth motion, I flung the end of my chain around one of his feet as I did so.
Then I leapt up and continued to run, sharply jerking the chain coiled around Dorian’s ankle as I did so.
His leg was swept out from under him and he crashed to the ground.
“Over here!” I heard him call to his comrades. I turned and hurled one of my knives. The blade buried itself deep into his thigh as he struggled to his feet. He collapsed again, grabbing his leg and screaming in pain. Served him right.
I raced on. I would need to find a way to cover my tracks—Baron would be on my tail before long. But right now, my primary focus was putting as many miles as I could between myself and my enemies. I wasn’t concerned about Father—he was used to getting himself out of sticky situations.
I fingered my single remaining throwing knife. If anyone pursued me, I would have to make it count.
All that night, I alternated jogging as long as I could with walking for the briefest amounts of time it took to get my wind back. The chain still hindered me, but a blacksmith could fix that for me once I got back.
Dawn rose and still I journeyed northward but this time, I veered to the west slightly.
This time, I would be sure to not take the most direct path as that had come back to bite me last time.
I did my best to cover my tracks while I walked.
Sometimes I would walk in the stream, or else backtrack in my footsteps after leaving a false trail and shinny up a tree to swing down far away and continue on in a different direction.
Remembering the ease with which Baron had found me before, I didn’t stop to rest all that day.
I knew I needed to go much farther than anyone would have thought possible.
So I pressed on, through meadows and forests, and at nightfall, I came to the outskirts of a small village near the base of a mountain.
I stumbled upon a cottage, wondering how much farther I could go before I collapsed, when an old woman came out of the house, blinking rapidly then squinting at me.
“May the saints bless me!” she cried. “You can’t be the daughter of Robin Hood?”
“Shhh!” I implored. The last thing I wanted right now was to have all the townsfolk shouting about my identity.
“Are you his daughter?” she continued in a voice only slightly more muted. “He helped me many years ago.”
“Yes, I am. Please, good mother, I need a place to hide.”
“Hide?” she asked anxiously, taking in my bedraggled appearance.
“Yes, mum.”
She straightened her back proudly as she walked toward me. “It would be an honor for my house to repay the kindness Robin Hood has shown us over the years!”
She opened the gate and bid me enter. Her cottage had a garden that had must’ve been harvested in the recent weeks and there was a pig pen containing several hogs all rooting around in the mud.
The cottage was relatively clean and smelled strongly of homemade soap.
I had never particularly enjoyed the smell of the lard that people mixed with lye, but it was a welcome change to the permanent stench of male sweat that seemed to permeate the entirety of the sheriff’s camp.
Her home was sparsely furnished, with a lumpy straw bedtick in one corner of the room, and a small cooking stove and large washbasin in another.
Once inside, the old woman began to fill the basin for me to bathe in and boiled water to pour into the chilly well water I had drawn up by the bucketloads for her.
She clucked sympathetically about my collar and chain, which she and I were unable to remove, but she proved to be a kind hostess.
She even rummaged around and found a dress about my size that she said I could keep.
My old tunic and leggings she took to be washed.
I noticed that she discreetly held her breath as she took them outside, and I winced, knowing that they probably smelled similar to Sneeds’s potent odor. I hadn’t bathed in nearly two weeks.
It felt like stepping into a new life just to touch clean water again.
I had refused to bathe while Baron or any of the guards watched.
The most I’d managed before was the quick washing with handfuls of cold water right before I attacked Dorian.
Now, hidden behind a faded curtain in the old woman’s cottage, I let myself breathe.
The water in the basin was warm from the fire.
Steam curled upward, softening my chilled skin.
I scrubbed hard, working the grime from everywhere, including every crease of each of my fingers, the crooks of my elbows, and the backs of my knees.
I worked until my skin prickled pink and sore.
Even under the iron collar, where the metal had rubbed my neck raw in spite of the fabric from Baron, I managed to rinse and dab carefully.
The feeling was almost painful in its relief.
I washed my hair twice, then a third time, until it smelled of soap instead of sweat and smoke. Strands clung wet and heavy to my back, but I didn’t mind. I felt lighter, as if something I had carried for weeks had finally been peeled away and I’d discovered myself again.
When I dressed again, it took some maneuvering to pull the chain through the new garments.
It was worth it, however. The dress was a warm, heavy wool dyed a warm brown, and beneath it, a dark green slip kept the rough fibers from scratching my skin.
I hated dresses…but I nearly sighed at the warmth that settled over me.
After days of thin leggings and a tunic stiff with dirt, this felt like heaven.
The old woman offered me her bed, her face lined with worry and kindness in equal measure, but I refused as gently as I could. She had already given me more than enough. Besides, my young back was used to hard ground. I didn’t need softness to sleep.
I spread extra blankets across the threadbare rug and lay down. My body knew what to do before my mind could think to resist, and sleep took me fast, heavy, and deep. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I slept without fear.
The next day, sunlight spilled in through the window, warm and high in the sky.
I stood, gathering the chain in my hands. “I need to go,” I told her, after thanking her for her generosity and hospitality.
“Not without some food first,” the old woman said.
As she packed me a bag with my freshly washed clothes, food, and a full waterskin, she told me the story of when she had eight children at home and was sure they would die of starvation soon when Father turned up with a pouch full of coins and a large bag stuffed with food.
“I’ll never forget that day,” she sniffed, then handed me the bulging pack.
“I am just glad that I can finally pay back some of what your father did for me back then.”
“I’ll tell him so.” I smiled at her and shouldered the bag to continue my journey.
As I walked, I relished in the feeling of hope.
Sherwood Forest was finally drawing near.
The trees grew tall and close, their canopies familiar as the lines of my own palm.
Sunlight filtered through in soft patches that dappled the path, and my legs felt lighter beneath me.
After a real bath and a full night’s sleep, I felt like I could fly.
I breathed deeper, walked faster. Home was so close I could almost smell the woodsmoke of campfires and hear the laughter of the Merry Men.
I rounded a bend in the trail and stopped short.
Someone stood barring the path ahead, broad-shouldered and all too familiar.
“Not again,” I groaned.
The bag slid from my shoulder and hit the dirt with a dull thump. My brief moment of peace and hope shattered.
It was Baron.