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There could only ever be one person leaving that glade, and I couldn’t let it be him. I was damned if I was going to let a man like that own me, as he’d proclaimed.
A wave of something like regret, or perhaps pity, settled deep in my belly. Still, I didn’t feel sorry for what I’d done. I had to shake the sensation off before it overwhelmed me, because my hands were already starting to tremble. And I’d need my hands soon.
The pull of the forest behind begged me to come to it. To run away, find the Merry Men, and celebrate the recovery of Emma.
What would I say to the rest of them, however? What would I say to Much the Miller’s Son? “I’m sorry, I found the girl you love, but I was too scared to help her.”
I steeled myself, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves and shaking hands.
Red hadn’t brought a sword with him, which meant he must have left it up on the riding bench of the carriage. I could have possibly exited the trees, circled around the carriage to the other side of the road, and tried to grab the sword.
It was risky, though. The two men standing watch would suspect something after too much time passed. I didn’t have long before their lax postures would turn dangerous and defensive. Plus, there was always the chance they’d catch me anyway.
No, I had to go straight for the throat. Just like I had with Red—no lingering, no timidity, no mercy.
The two guards had swords on their hips. They were bigger than me and I was weakened. I doubted I could take one of them, much less both. But I had to try.
I stalked out of the trees, gaining the gentle incline that led to the carriage. Stepping out of my hideaway and into the gently bruised night.
I stumbled, head bowed, shaking my head. My wrists were still shackled, albeit loosely, and I kept them behind my back as I staggered forward, looking like the undead rising from the grave.
The two men noticed me approaching and went rigid, abruptly standing. The soldiers shared skeptical, confused looks. One of them—the other driver from the bench, who had just raped the poor girl before me—put his hand on his sword pommel and hesitantly shuffled down to meet me before I got to the carriage.
“Where the fuck is Red?” he called out, before I was ten feet from him. “Why are you alone, whore?”
I shrugged and looked up. “Said he couldn’t get it up. I think he needs your help.”
Okay. In hindsight, probably not the best thing to do—throwing insults at skittish guardsmen.
It worked, though, as the guard tensed and his face contorted with anger. He drew his sword as he stormed toward me. “Why you little—”
“You can’t kill her, Simon!” yelled the other guard from the carriage. “She’s worth too much!” He itched to join his ally in reprimanding me, drawing his sword like his friend, except he had a duty to watch the other girls at the carriage.
I wanted to use their separation to my advantage, because it was the only chance I had.
I kept walking toward Simon, even as he shouted, “Stop moving, woman,” and raised his sword.
We were five feet apart now.
He snarled, “I said stop—”
I lifted my head, taking another step forward.
And smiled.
He gasped at the rictus grin on my face—the crazed, lunatic fringe of a bloodied, scorned woman.
Then he lunged at me—
Just as my right hand slid out of the cuff behind my back and I swung the shackles with my left hand, bringing the dangling iron cuff around in a broad sweep.
It smashed into Simon’s head with a metallic thunk and he lurched sideways, swaying as blood spurt from his temple.
Somehow, he stayed on his feet.
I screamed in righteous fury, and the girls in the carriage responded with shouts of support.
I hadn’t suspected Simon to stay upright. My eyes bulged in surprise—
