34. Baron
BARON
So, this was Sherwood Forest.
I had navigated around the perimeter of the forest innumerable times, but I had never actually entered its heart before. This was where Laurel belonged.
After James left with Laurel to take her back to Sherwood Forest, I had returned to Nottingham Castle prepared to quit on the spot.
I didn’t care whether or not Prince John suspected me.
I didn’t care whether the mission collapsed or whether I ever returned to his service.
All I cared about was getting back to Laurel.
But it hadn’t been necessary.
Before I arrived, several soldiers had informed Prince John of my skill as a tracker, and the moment he saw me, he showed me the note and demanded that I go after Robin Hood.
I assured him that I would not rest until I found the person responsible for the break in and theft. That, at least, was true.
Once I had traveled into the heart of Sherwood Forest, a teenage boy appeared along the path. For one brief moment, I amused myself by wondering whether he meant to rob unwary travelers, but he made no such attempt with me. Instead, he looked me over and asked what business I had there.
“I came to see Laurel,” I said.
The boy’s face fell at once. “She ain’t doing too well, me mam says.”
Fear closed around my heart. “Take me to her.”
He turned and trotted off, though trot was perhaps too generous a word. The boy walked with a heavy limp, and I doubted he could move any faster. Still, it took every scrap of restraint I had not to bark at him to hurry. Each step felt too slow.
We passed tidy little huts, small gardens, laundry lines, and cookfires.
A training area stood to my right, and I saw a basket full of the same kind of throwing knives I had seen Laurel use so many times.
A pang struck deep in my chest. She should have been out there.
She should have been laughing, practicing, showing off, and pretending not to enjoy every moment of admiration she earned.
She shouldn’t be wasting away on bedrest.
The boy pointed toward a small cabin. “She’s in there.”
Without even a word of thanks, I rushed to the door and flung it open.
The interior was dim, and when my eyes adjusted, I saw Laurel lying on a stuffed straw tick, completely still.
Her face was still pale and she looked smaller than she ever had.
The hut was empty except for a young man about Laurel’s age sitting beside her with a jar of paste in one hand.
He used the other to scoop out bits and smooth them carefully onto her injuries.
Laurel’s shirt had been cut short to expose her midriff, and part of her stomach was covered with the brightly colored cream.
The healer looked up sharply. “Who are you?” he asked.
I ignored him and went straight to Laurel’s bedside. The young man shifted as if to block me, and I pushed him aside without much care for his squawk of protest. Laurel was sleeping. I covered her hand with mine, noticing as I did so that her hand was no longer cold, but feverish.
At least she was still breathing.
“You can’t be in here,” the healer hissed from behind me.
I rose slowly. My head nearly brushed the low ceiling overhead as I turned on him.
The young man clutched the jar of salve like a weapon.
I eyed him. Everything about him was average, from his height and build to his brown hair and eyes.
He looked like the sort of man people trusted immediately simply because there was nothing threatening about him.
I didn’t want to wake Laurel, so I plucked the salve from his hand, placed it on the rickety bedside table, and shoved him toward the doorway.
“Hey, stop that,” he said, annoyed.
I ducked beneath the doorframe, stepped outside after him, and closed the door quietly behind us.
“Who are you?” the healer demanded again, louder now that we were outside. “And what are you doing here? Get lost. I’m trying to take care of my patient. She needs me.”
“I’m here to see her,” I said. “How is she?”
The healer frowned. “You still never said who you are.”
I sighed impatiently. “Baron. Baron Blackwellson.”
His eyes widened in comprehension. Then he looked me over, and I watched irritation become recognition followed closely by open dislike.
“I see.” He straightened and stepped to the side, deliberately barring my path back into the hut. “I know who you are all right. And who your father was too.”
The insolent little twerp.
“That’s neither here nor there. How is Laurel?”
“I cannot discuss the condition of my patients with anyone except family.”
My patience, already dangerously thin, began to fray. “I count as family.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Do you?”
“She and I are together.” The words came out before I could decide whether I had the right to say them.
The young man cocked his head. “Oh really? Seems that, last I heard, she dumped you.”
The urge to punch him became immediate and powerful.
“We all know what you are,” he added. “I’ve heard all about you.”
“First of all,” I said, keeping my voice low, “you know very little about me. And second, this is none of your business.”
“Actually,” he said, his voice growing shriller, “anything to do with Laurel is my business. Professionally and personally.”
The word personally made me stare as understanding clunked into place.
This must be Peter. He was significantly smaller than I had expected.
With Little John as his father, I’d assumed he would be at least my size.
And he wasn’t even particularly handsome, which was deeply irritating.
What had she seen in him? Laurel didn’t want ordinary.
She had told me in my tent that she didn’t want Peter and I believed her.
I let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Real cute try. What’s your name, kid?”
His eyebrows drew together. “Peter Little, son of John Little. I’m in charge of Laurel’s recovery, and you need to leave. Aren’t you supposed to be off playing Prince John’s lapdog anyway?”
“I don’t play in the real world, little boy” I said, my voice deadly cool. “I have actual work to do. I don’t play hide-and-go-seek in the forest like you. And there’s no way I am leaving you in charge of her recovery.”
“Because you can make that decision?” Peter retorted. “You may have called the shots back at your daddy’s camp, but here, you’re not in charge. You’re a nobody. You aren’t even a fully fledged member of the Merry Men. You’re on probation. I don’t take orders from you. No one does.”
I went very still.
He had struck several places at once, and judging by the flash in his eyes, he knew it.
The ugly truth was that I had entered Sherwood Forest as a stranger and an outsider, while Peter had grown up beneath these trees with Laurel.
Then a brief, violently vivid image flashed through my mind of Peter kissing Laurel. His mouth had touched hers.
I moved before I could convince myself not to. I lunged forward, grabbed Peter by the collar and the seat of his pants, lifted him bodily into the air, and dumped him into the nearby water trough with a deeply satisfying splash.
He came up spluttering. I sauntered past him, re-entered the hut, and bolted the door behind me.
“Hey!” Peter screeched as he clambered out of the trough, dripping wet. He pounded on the locked door. “Open this door.”
I returned to Laurel’s bedside, drew up a small stool, and took her hand again.
The pounding seemed to rouse her. Her lashes fluttered, and when her eyes opened and found me, the corners of her mouth turned upward ever so slightly.
I squeezed her hand gently, and after a moment, she returned the faintest pressure.
“Who’s a mother hen now?” I asked.
She let out a breathy exhale, as though attempting to laugh, but she was still too weak. “That would still be you. No need to fuss. I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.”
Her gaze moved over my face as if she were not entirely sure I was real. “I didn’t think you would come.”
I brushed my thumb across the back of her hand. “I’ll always come for you.” Whether or not we were together, that much would always be true. “I’ll always be here.” The pounding on the door continued. “Peter’s here too,” I added grudgingly when Laurel’s gaze flicked toward the sound.
“I can hear that,” she said.
She weakly turned her head to look past me.
I followed her gaze and saw Peter’s face pressed near the grimy window.
His expression was twisted in anger, and water trickled from the hair plastered to his forehead.
He jabbed a finger at me, then gestured for me to come outside.
Droplets splattered against the glass as he waved his arms.
I narrowed my eyes at him. I wanted to kiss Laurel in front of him.
The desire was immediate, irrational, and embarrassingly strong.
I wanted Peter to know that I was not simply some old relic from Laurel’s past. I wanted him to know she loved me.
I wanted him to know that I was the one who had been there when she woke and told me I made her feel safe.
I contented myself with lifting Laurel’s hand to my lips, then kept my eyes on Peter as I kissed her knuckles.
It was petty. I knew it was petty, but I did it anyway. Peter’s mouth fell open, and then he disappeared from the window.
“You’re trying to mark me as your territory, aren’t you?” Laurel murmured. “Men are so possessive. You don’t own me, remember?”
“I think you’ve made that quite clear.”
Laurel smiled. The small expression cost her more energy than it should have.
Her eyes closed, and I saw the muscles in her neck tighten as she clamped her jaw against pain.
My gaze dropped to her injured abdomen before I could stop it.
The skin around the wounds was inflamed, and the sight made dread settle low in my stomach.
I had seen battlefield injuries turn dangerous before.
“It looks bad, doesn’t it?”
My eyes snapped back to Laurel’s face. She had opened her eyes and was watching me intently.
“No one will tell me,” she said. “But I know.”
I considered lying, but Laurel would see through it in an instant.
“Yeah,” I said. “It looks bad, but you can handle it.”
Her mouth tightened. “I never said I couldn’t.” She stopped talking and took several measured breaths. I hated seeing her in so much pain. If only I could take even a portion of it from her.
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I missed you.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Laurel winced, and her hand moved toward her side. “We just saw each other.”
I gently caught her hand before she could touch the wound. “Don’t. You need to heal.”
“That may have gotten more difficult. I think you just scared away my healer.”
“I’ll get you a new healer,” I said. “A better one.” I didn’t need Peter to be touching her and looking at her.
If he did, I’d gladly throw him into the water trough again.
As if summoned by the thought, Peter’s face appeared in the window again and this time, Little John stood beside him.
John rapped smartly on the glass with his knuckles.
“Open up, Baron,” he called. “You can’t lock patients away from their healers.”
“Somebody’s in trouble,” Laurel said quietly in a singsong voice.
She grinned at me and applied a little pressure to my hand, then let go so I could stand and open the door. Peter pushed past me and went straight to Laurel. I made to follow, but Little John laid a restraining hand on my shoulder. He was one of the few people tall enough to do so comfortably.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said.
I looked back at Peter and Laurel. Peter glared at me through narrowed eyes as he placed a hand on Laurel’s forehead to check her temperature.
Laurel gave the faintest shadow of a smile.
It drove me mad to see Peter sitting next to her and touching her with such easy familiarity.
I could tell what he wanted, and it was not merely to help his patient recover.
“Who has to have his daddy’s help now?” I asked Peter spitefully.
Peter bristled and Laurel’s eyes twinkled, but Little John’s grip tightened on my shoulder, and I was steered firmly out the door.