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Her lips tilted in a crooked, shy smile. “You really have made yourself into something here, haven’t you, Lady?”
I winked at her. “You could say that, my friend.” As the smile faltered on her face, and a look of concern took over, I put a hand to her arm. “What is it, Emma?”
“I feel guilty.”
“Why? Because of Liz?”
Her headshake was stern. “It’s my younger sister, Lady Robin. You might not know her—”
“Grace.”
Her eyes flashed wide. A wrinkle filled the space between her brows. She quickly shook it off and didn’t question how I knew of her sister. “She’s still at the almshouse in Nottingham. If the Sheriff learns I escaped, I fear he might exact retribution on poor Gracie. I can’t let that happen, ma’am. Please, is there any—”
“We’ll get her,” I said, nodding decisively. “And any other younglings at the orphanage who want to leave the city.”
Emma gaped. “R-Really?”
I patted her shoulder with a light squeeze. “We both have things in Nottingham we need, Em. I’ve been meaning to go there for a while now, but haven’t had a pressing reason to. Now, I do.”
For Gracie . . .
And to finally find Little John.
Chapter 20
Robin
“This is exactly the kind of stubbornness and reckless abandon that got us in this mess in the first place,” Tuck chided. “It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s not,” I answered, folding my arms over my chest. “If we play our hand right, no one will even know we’ve been there.”
Tuck glanced heavenward at the waning sun. “I want to help everyone in Nottingham, but we can’t go in blindly without a plan. There are three hours left of sunlight, and you’re talking about barging into the town that wants us dead tonight? Absolutely—”
“All due respect, it’s not your decision.” I glared at him. After hearing Emma’s plea, I hadn’t taken long to round up the leadership of the Merry Men to talk to them about my strategy. Last night and this morning had reinvigorated me.
I kept staring at a pile of timber Crisp was busy chopping and whittling away in the distance. We always seemed to have an overabundance of wood, even if we lacked other necessities. Half his face was blotched blue and yellow, where Tuck had punched him. He didn’t seem to mind, keeping his head down and working.
My eyes veered from the lumber to Will, who perched against a tree with his foot propped behind him as he listened to me and Tuck argue. “It’s his decision,” I said.
Tuck spun on the younger man. “Great. You’ve chosen the other reckless youth to lead us.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “The band did.”
Alan-a-Dale, who was busy fussing with his lute on his lap, nodded absentmindedly. “She has you there, dear chaplain.”
Will pushed off from the tree to join us next to the carriage. We had taken the talk away from prying eyes, because we didn’t want to give any of the remaining Merry Men doubts over our unity. “I’m surprised you’re reluctant to want to rescue the whelps from your own almshouse.”
“I’m not reluctant,” Tuck growled.
“Is it that much of a surprise?” I murmured, shaking my head. “He’s always the most cautious of us.”
“And for good reason,” Tuck said, continuing to defend himself. “Someone around here needs to keep expectations tempered, in check. Little John isn’t here to do it.”
I raised a finger. “He could be here . . . if we go into Nottingham to rescue him.”
“We aren’t even sure he’s there, little heathen.”
“Where else would he be?”
