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I took it and darted away. The map sewn by Maid Marian into the sleeve of Grace’s dress, I thought, recalling that wretched debacle from months prior. If she sees it, she’ll know I’m one of the Merry Men.
Brand came running with a short girl with well-water hair, a snowy face, and a proud chin like her older sister Emma.
“This is Tuck’s friend, Gracie,” Brand said, tugging on her sleeve. He looked at me, lips parting . . .
“Alan-a-Dale, angel,” I said to Grace. I showed her the map. “Tuck’s taking care of the men at the door.”
“Men at the door, sir?” she asked, knuckling her sleepy eyes. She took the map, eyes widening in recognition.
I could hear Tuck’s muffled voice in the distance. “Hail, sirs, can I help you? This is an odd hour to be rousing the sleeping. The knocking is waking the children.”
“Got orders to count the heads here, after the commotion in the town square,” one guard said.
My heart stuttered in my chest. Sheriff George is paranoid. The sly bastard knows something is amiss with Much’s presence. I cursed under my breath. We should have thought of this.
“You all right, Sir Alan?” Brand asked.
I crouched in front of them, like Tuck had done, my eyes swiveling from the sleepy, unblemished face of Grace, to the one-eyed Brand. “Gracie, we have your sister Emma.”
She gasped.
Shit. I’m not as good at this as Tuck. I shook my head and tried again. “Erm, I mean, she’s our guest. We rescued her, lass. She’s been asking about you, which is why we’re here.”
Her mouth hung open. “Em w-was taken too?”
“Aye. We’re going to take you to her, okay? We just have to move swiftly.”
The voices behind me—Tuck’s and the guards’—were getting louder. More frustrated as Tuck tried to buy us time.
“What about the rest of us, sir?” Brand asked. His shoulders sagged, face taking on a look of defeat and despair as he likely figured he was about to be abandoned once again. “I don’t much like being under lock and key here, Sir Alan. I—”
“You’re coming with us,” I announced. “All of you are.”
Brand’s face lit up. “Oh! But how? Everyone’s sleeping.”
“Which is why you’re going to take me to them.” I shouldered my lute off my back and held it in front of me. “I have my methods, lad.” To Grace, I said, “Lass, go wake the girls, aye? I’ll be in to sing you a rousing tune in a minute. Then we’re all going to go nice and quiet outside the side door, aren’t we?”
Brand nodded earnestly.
Grace still seemed hesitant. She fidgeted in front of her stomach. “Erm . . . this is our home, sir. Are you sure it’s what Father Tuck wants?”
It wasn’t in my interest or character to lure children away from their homes. Even thinking in such terms made a shudder run through me. But when one’s shelter is compromised and no longer protected? When the normalcy of your daily routine and structure is crumbling before you? This safehouse is no longer safe.
It’s as I told Robin before, and now must tell this reed of a girl.
I put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing to make sure she gazed into my eyes. “This is simply a dilapidated building with walls, angel. It’s served you well, but change is good—especially change away from the nastiness of this city.”
My pursed lips parted, softness returning to my features as her scared eyes searched mine. “I will repeat to you what I’ve told a close friend before, dear: Your home is not where you are. It’s who you’re with.”
Chapter 22
Robin
We spent over half an hour searching the alleys south of the town square for Rosco. Our efforts came up fruitless.
I was growing frustrated. “We’re running out of time,” I told Will as I glanced over at the mass of people gathered around Much and the wagon.
“I know.” He tightened his cloak and pulled his hood lower. “We can only hope Alan and Tuck have had more success.”
