“I give up,” James finally cried, his arms dangling toward the ground and his face turning alarmingly purple.
I figured he had been punished long enough. I rotated the wooden disc back into place and released his ankles. James stumbled when his feet hit the ground, then grabbed my arm to steady himself.
“James, you are truly one of the most sadistic people I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” I told him.
He grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Hey, I don’t get an opportunity like that every day. I had to take advantage of it.”
It had been a long time since I had seen him so playful.
Nero approached us, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Thank you both for the entertainment.” He picked up two knives from his display and offered them to me handle first. “Here. For the lady. Even if they are off balance. You earned them.”
I accepted the knives. “Good throwing today.”
“Likewise.” All his previous haughtiness was gone, replaced with a cheery attitude. “It was a pleasure to meet you, miss. You’re welcome here any time.” He hurried off to tend to several customers who had lined up at his stall. Our performance had brought him a good amount of business, which was probably more than he deserved after shooing me away from his knives, but I was feeling generous. I had judged him harshly as well, just as I had with Aalis and Gwendolyn, and felt slightly guilty for it.
After the crowd around the wooden wheel dispersed, James and I went for a meal at the local tavern. Several people congratulated us as we passed, and James received enough slaps on the back that he began to look genuinely concerned for his ribs. Inside, the tavern was loud and warm, filled with the smellof stew, ale, old wood, and smoke from the hearth. We found a table in the corner where we could talk without being easily overheard.
“You really need to be more careful,” James said in a low voice once the thrill of the moment had faded and his calm, steady manner had returned. “It’s not wise to show off like that when you’re supposed to be undercover. Why aren’t you at the castle, anyway?”
I told him all about my friends who had stepped in to help me. When I described Walter’s apprehension of Baron, James frowned.
“Did he say why?”
I shook my head. “He said it wasn’t for a lady’s ears. So who knows? It was probably just rumors. Baron’s only been sheriff for a couple of weeks.”
“Hmm.” James leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe.”
I didn’t like the tone of thatmaybeand decided to change the subject. I pulled the leather pouch of coins from my bag and tipped the contents into James’s hands. “Here.”
“What’s this?” James asked. Then, with an anxious glance around the tavern, he lowered his voice. “You haven’t robbed Prince John, have you?”
“Not yet,” I said with a twinkle in my eye. “No, this is from the honorable Sheriff of Nottingham.”
“Willingly?” James asked.
I shrugged. “More or less. Some of it will have to go toward replacing this.”
I lifted the ruined dress I had worn the previous day. The torn seams and damaged fabric looked even worse in the tavern light than they had in the servants’ quarters.
“What about the rest?” James asked.
I grinned. “Give it to the poor. The sheriff can afford it.”
BARON
Iplodded down the hall, my boots dragging more than usual. It felt as though that day would never end. Every hour had stretched longer than the one before it, and I’d spent most of it waiting for some disaster to strike.
I’d fretted so much about the consequences of putting Laurel in the pillory that morning that every time anyone approached me, I’d held my breath, prepared to hear that her identity had been compromised. Every hurried footstep in the corridor sent my mind racing to the worst case scenarios, and every servant who whispered and fell silent when I passed made me wonder whether someone had noticed too much. I had played my part as sheriff, and Laurel had played hers, but the performance had been a dangerous one. It only took one person looking too closely to recognize Laurel as Robin Hood’s daughter, then everything would unravel.
To make the day worse, I had drilled my platoon for hours and overseen punishments for two men-at-arms who’d been disrespectful. Before meeting Laurel, I’d never been bothered by punishing insubordinate soldiers. It had simply been part of command. A necessary part, according to my father.
Now, the harshness of the punishments disgusted me.
I kept my face hard through it all, because that was what everyone expected from me, but each command tasted worse than the last. I hated the way the men flinched when I spoke. I hated the way my captains watched me, waiting to see how much cruelty I would approve. But most of all, I hated that I sounded exactly like my father when the situation required it.
The soldiers constantly came to me with minor squabbles, and my captains and officers seemed wholly incapable of dealing with anything on their own. Every petty complaint somehow became my responsibility and the servants were no better. They scattered anytime I entered a room, their faces going pale as they dipped into hurried bows and curtsies before fleeing in the opposite direction.
Being disliked and feared by so many people didn’t bother me much. I had Laurel and the Merry Men and didn’t need anyone else. That thought alone carried me through the final stretch of the day and down the last dim corridor toward my quarters. At some point, I would be able to end this charade and return to them.
