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I punched the dirt next to me. “Okay. It’s settled. Let’s stay relatively close to Nottingham and send someone into town every day to meet with Rosco. Someone unknown, who won’t get made. Until Rosco gives us a firm date.”
“If we move around too much, we risk getting caught during the move,” Alan said. “Best just to hunker down until Rosco tells us more.”
“Lot of trust we’re putting in the lad,” Tuck muttered.
“He’ll do it for Emma,” I said. “Will was smart—and ruthless—to set that situation up.” With a sigh, I stared at the fire, shaking my head. “Besides . . . I’ve been putting faith in strangers for a long time now, and I’m realizing it’s what we have to do to move forward.”
“Bold words, little heathen.”
“I know, Tuck. I know.”
Alan clicked his tongue. Looked at Tuck, then me. Then Tuck again. Then me. “So, erm . . . who’s going to go tell Will the grand plan? I’ve got a feeling he’s in there so damn hard and angry and brooding that he’s ready to punch a hole through the top of the tent with his cock.”
I blinked incredulously at the minstrel, before noticing his smirk in the shadow of the fire and realized he was probably joking.
Probably.
I played along with him, saying with a shrug, “Guess it should be me, then, shouldn’t it?”
Alan’s eyes glittered, his smile widening in the shadows. “You’re a greedy little bitch, aren’t you, songbird?”
I stood. Dusted my hands off. Sashayed away, giving both men a show on my way to Will’s tent.
“The greediest, dandelion.”
Chapter 24
Little John
Istared down at my bandaged hand, soiled and run through with grime. With a wince, I limped from the wall to join the man in the doorway, who waited patiently for me with his hands clasped in front of him.
I had finally been given permission to leave the cell, for less than an hour a day. And only when I had a chauffeur—always the same man.
It was a momentary respite from my captors and torturers. Sheriff George and his cronies had taken my dignity and freedom, but the man I walked the prison courtyard with kept my soul intact.
Him . . . and Robin, of course. My little star was never far from my mind. As much as I tried to block her out while George did his worst to me, she always came to me in my fitful dreams, cradling my head in her lap, smiling down at me, telling me everything was going to be okay.
She’d become an angel who defended me from the depths of despair.
My little hope.
I reckoned I’d been imprisoned for months now. Seeing the sky once a day at least gave me a sense of structure and brought time out of the monotonous blur it had been spinning through while jailed.
My chauffeur’s pristine white robe rippled in the breeze as we slowly paced through the small courtyard. He was patient, stopping and slowing his stride so I could keep up.
With all the bruising I’d endured, much less the possibly broken bones, I wasn’t so quick on my feet these days. It was hell, because I knew I’d be worthless to the Merry Men even if they did ever find a way to get me out of here.
Perhaps they have moved on, I thought with a sigh, grimacing as I pushed my legs forward to keep up with my warden. I wouldn’t blame them if they have. Too many guards around here to try anything drastic. The reward is not nearly worth the risk.
Maybe the Merry Men aren’t even in Sherwood Forest anymore, and my going missing was the last straw for them to leave the woods and find a home away from the tyrannical Sheriff of Nottingham.
Problem with that, I knew, was there was no place safe in all of England from Sheriff George. He had shown that.
I kept my head down as I struggled to walk, dragging my aching legs along. I used a crutch, though these daily walks were getting me stronger, and I didn’t really need it. It helped, but my muscles had stopped atrophying once I got out of my dank, dark cell for exercise.
I’ll let the guards and other prisoners in the courtyard here think I still need it to get anywhere, though. Keep them guessing.
Still have to wonder why George is giving me license to go on walks.
