Chapter 32
The soldiers would find us soon if we didn’t pick up the pace. The men couldn’t sustain the speed that Baron and I were pushing them at, and I was feeling the weight of traveling too. Father looked as though he would pass out at any moment.
“We have to stop,” Baron told me. I sighed, looking around for anywhere we could wait safely for the men to heal. We needed food, medical attention, and somewhere safe to recover.
A familiar distinctive thatched roof was visible beyond the crest of the hill. Baron looked toward it and grinned. “It seems like there was a nice couple who said Robin Hood could call on them if ever help was needed.”
“No,” I said, knowing exactly what he was thinking.
“Oh, yes!” Baron said, adjusting Lincoln over his shoulder and heading for the cottage.
“No!”
“Didn’t he say his wife is a healer?”
We argued all the way to the door.
“May the saints bless and preserve me!” an elderly, stooping woman cried as she opened the door, holding her hand up to her chest in surprise, then to her nose as our foul stench reached her nostrils. “What have we here?”
“Good morning, madam. Would you be Tildy?” Baron asked.
“Eh?” The woman leaned forward, cupping her hand around her ear. “What is that you said, young man?”
“Are you Tildy?” he repeated, raising his voice.
“Yes, I am.”
“This is Robin Hood”—he nodded toward Father—“and his men. We need refuge.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she observed our crew of haggard, bedraggled men. “Come in, come in! My, my, my…”
We shuffled over the threshold and closed the door shut behind us.
Baron put Lincoln down, and Will Scarlet collapsed straight onto the floor.
Little John and Dale were the only ones who seemed to have even a tiny portion of strength left.
To their credit, both men stayed on their feet and went from man to man, assessing their needs and told Tildy they were willing to help in whatever way she needed.
Tildy took one look at me and clicked her tongue. “Arrow first,” she said briskly, guiding me to a stool by the fire and quickly gathering some things from around the room.
“This will hurt,” she warned.
I gave a strained laugh. “It already does.”
Before I could protest, she snapped the arrow’s shaft, braced a hand against my back, and pulled. White-hot pain burst through me and I couldn’t restrain the scream. Baron lunged forward, his eyes panicked, but I shook my head at him. “I’m fine,” I choked out.
She pressed a cloth steeped in something stinging and herbal against the wound, her movements quick and sure.
“Now what happened here?” Without ceremony, Tildy lifted my tunic partway to inspect the mangled skin underneath.
“Dog bite,” I said through gritted teeth.
“It looks nasty, but it’s fairly shallow.” Her fingers smeared a thick salve over the torn skin; the cooling burn of it made my eyes water. She wrapped my ribs tightly, tying the bandage off with a firm tug. “You’ll be right as rain in a few days.”
Looking me over again, Tildy turned her attention to my cheek and ear. They also received a thorough cleaning, and a pronouncement of healing quickly before she straightened and scanned the room.
Lincoln sagged in the corner where Baron had placed him. Father was pale, clutching his ribs; Will Scarlet had apparently pulled himself from the floor but looked like he and Little John could barely stand; the others were bruised, bloodied, starving. Tildy clapped once, sharply.
“All right, men, sit if you can, lean if you must. You and you”—she pointed to Baron and Little John—“Help me get these shirts off and check for bleeding. Lift anyone who can’t move themselves. Robin Hood’s next.”
“I can’t stay,” Baron said quickly. I looked up in surprise, and he hurried on, “I need to cover our tracks as soon as possible.”
I nodded, trying not to wince. In a blink, Baron was gone.
Tildy pressed another clean cloth into my good hand. “Come on, girl. No fainting now. We’ve work to do before any of you die on my floor. I know you don’t feel well, but I need your hands.”
Will Scarlet and Little John lowered Father to the table and Tildy hurried over to tend to his many injuries.
I surveyed the room and internally sighed.
No one could travel in this state. The men could barely rise from their seats after the few miles’ walk from the castle.
I began to run my hand through my hair, distressed at the prospect of moving them, but stopped when my hand came away caked with residue from the moat and tangles snarled under my fingers. We were all a mess.
The front door banged open, and an alarmed shout rose from the entrance. “Tildy! Tildy! Blast it all ta pieces, woman, come quick! We been overrun by vagabonds, we ‘ave!”
I hurried to head off Sam. When he saw me, he started in shock and held his hands up defensively.
“I ‘aven’t been runnin’ me mouth, miss! ‘onest, I ‘aven’t! Why, I was just sayin’ to me wife Tildy when ye lef’ yesterday that me tongue was worf keepin’, it is!
And I done abided by my part of the bargain, I ‘ave! Ain’t no need to go threatenin’ an ol’ farmer such as meself, and now our cottage done be burstin’ at the seams wiff—"
I grimaced, remembering how I’d been so brusque with Sam before, and now needed to beg for aid. “I’m sorry I said that, about your tongue,” I told him, doing my best to smile through the pain. “You seem like a wonderful man, and we need your help.”
I hastily explained the circumstances, pointing out Father and some of his men. Sam’s eyes grew wider and wider as I told him of our dire need for a hideout if people came searching for us.
“Robin ‘ood, ye say?” he said keenly, peering curiously at Father. “That caint be ‘im, on account of this poor fella is in a right poor condition. Caint no one ‘urt Robin ‘ood, they caint.”
“I wish that were true!” coughed Father from his spot at the table.
Tildy had him laid out on the table, shirt ripped open to expose the sprawling bruising on his body, and was applying poultice after poultice to his wounds then bandaging them neatly.
Father rolled his head backward to try and see who had been speaking about him. “Sam, is that you?”
Sam swelled with pride. “Vat it is, me dear man, vat it is! Do you ‘onest and truly remember me?”
Father grinned. His face was now significantly cleaner, Tildy having sponged off a good deal of dirt and dried blood. “I honest and truly do. Your voice is very memorable!”
Sam beamed. “Tildy! Tildy, darlin’, did ye ‘ear what Robin ‘ood just said about me?”
Tildy nodded pleasantly. “Yes, Sam dear.” She finished with Father and turned her attention to me, throwing a critical eye over my bedraggled appearance.
“Dearie, draw some water from the well and take a quick bath in the room behind you there, and then, would you throw on a clean dress and apron and start on the breakfast? These men look hungry enough to eat the eggs raw, if we let them. But only clean cooks are allowed in my kitchen.”
After a very rushed bath to remove all my dried blood and the residue from the moat, I headed toward the cupboard she indicated. The aprons hanging there were all violently pink and splashed with bright blue, yellow, and purple flowers. My eyes watered just looking at them.
“I don’t need an apron, mum. I’ll be all right,” I told her, and began to walk away from the cupboard, but Tildy put her hands on her wide hips.
“Any cook in my kitchen wears an apron, no matter who they are!” For such a warm, motherly figure, she had a no-nonsense air about her. “Put it on.”
I meekly returned to the cupboard and pulled on an apron.