Page 30 of Daughter of Sherwood

Even in your final moments, you protected me.

My sad smile quickly faded as I came to a stark, terrible realization.

Peter Fisher was a squire. A nobleboy. Women in Nottingham couldn’t go around stabbing noblemen’s eyes out. Not without real punishment. Consequences.

It didn’t matter what he’d done. It was my word against his.

I knew well enough how that went.

Fuck, I thought, glancing over my shoulder to the woods in the distance.

There was no sign of the would-be rapist. Only the dying fumes of his cries lifting muffled into the sky.

Now I absolutely have to get out of here. If I don’t . . . my life is over, and so is my family’s.

Whether he likes it or not, I thought drearily, I’m joining Father on that fucking trek!

Chapter 11

Robin

My heart was still slamming against my ribs by the time I returned to the edge of my estate. I hadn’t been gone long. The carriages Uncle Gregory brought from town were sitting in the courtyard. They hadn’t left yet.

Armed men—Gregory’s guards, no doubt—loaded one of the carts with chests and dressers. It appeared Father was emptying the entire manor of its valuables.

As for my father himself, I couldn’t see him.

I crept forward through the high stalks of the barleygrass, crouching low to keep the drooping tips above my hood. I stayed away from the serfs working the land, wading through the grass. When it thinned out at the edges, I poked my head up from the grass, kneeling, and watched across the narrow road to the circular courtyard of the estate.

From here, it was just a short hop to the carts sitting vacant. I’d have to cross the thin strip of a dirt road, and then the smooth cobblestones of the courtyard, to get to them.

The carriages were covered with white canvases, high walled. Ornate woodwork was etched into the wagon hulls, and the tall wheels were similarly decorated. Two pack horses led each cart, standing peacefully, letting out soft snorts.

Gregory hadn’t been lying when he said he would make the journey comfortable. These carriages were fit for royalty, and looked like they’d move slowly compared to the smaller carts I saw around town, used by merchants and tradesmen. The wheels alone were half as tall as me. Not that that was saying much.

Two guards came out of the manor carrying a large chest between them. They set it down before heading back to the manor to haul more things out.

My eyes widened. An opportunity had presented itself. There was still one guard outside, brushing one of the horses’ manes at the front cart.

Before I could let my brain hesitate or stop me, I steeled myself and made a run for it. I darted across the road and cobbles, keeping my body low to the ground and parallel with the back of the cart so the guard would have to turn fully around to see me.

I made it to the heavy chest—longer than I was tall—recognizing it from my mother’s chambers. Gently, I lifted the lid and cursed in my head as the hinges let out a soft squeal.

I stood there in the open for a split second, waiting to get caught, but the guard didn’t turn. He was too busy whispering sweet nothings into the horse’s ear.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The distinct feeling of being watched settled over me. I lifted the lid all the way with slick palms, damning the consequences. A heap of Mama’s clothes rested in the chest, filling it about halfway.

I stepped into the chest, backing in, and by the time I was halfway in, my heart caught in my throat.

A serf stood across the street, brow pinched together, staring at me. He was a young man, perhaps my age, with a bald head.

Eyes bulging, I put my finger to my lips, begging him to be quiet and not raise alarm. Some of the workers I considered acquaintances, but I didn’t know this one. I’d never seen him before. He had no allegiance to me.

When the boy gave me a wry smile and tiny nod, I returned the smile.

I sank into the chest, flattening myself on the garments as I closed the lid over my head. Pitch blackness awaited me.

Voices carried from inside the house moments later, getting louder as they moved closer to the carriages.

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