“Baron, did this girl set fire to Dorian’s tent?” the sheriff asked.
“No, sir,” Baron said. “She’s been at my side all evening. I would’ve seen her.”
“He’s lying!” screeched Dorian. “He’s on her side. I know he is!”
“Questioning your commander’s loyalties, are you?” thundered the sheriff. “Watch your tongue, snake!”
“Why would anyone think that I was on her side, when I’m the only one who has managed to keep her here and under control?” Baron responded angrily. “You lasted, what, less than a day, Dorian? Sneeds just a few hours.”
“She did it! SHE did it! I know she did!” Dorian screamed. “Just look at her smug face and you’ll know it’s true!”
I remained silent. Revenge was so sweet.
The sheriff scowled in my direction. “Just stay away from her, Dorian,” he said finally. “In fact, don’t let anyone else pitch a tent within a hundred yards of this brat. No one comes near this campsite at all.” He nodded in Baron’s direction. “May the saints be with you, Baron. You’re on your own. I don’t know how you keep her in control.”
The sheriff walked into the darkness and Dorian bobbed alongside him, still insisting I was at fault. Once they were out of earshot, Baron gave me a long, calculating look. “Did you?”
“No,” I said easily.
“You’re lying. I can always tell when you’re lying.”
I smiled wickedly. “Maybe Dorian is the one who shouldn’t be closing his eyes tonight.”
Baron ran his fingers through his dark hair and studied my face. “I don’t know how you did it,” he said at last. “But I know it was you.” He looked at me awhile longer. “You’re a positively terrifying woman. You know that, right?”
I smiled dazzlingly. “I know.”
CHAPTER 18
With the obvious exception of Baron, all the men in camp began to actively avoid me. Speculations flew around camp—that I could set fires by thinking it, that my kisses killed a man on contact, and that I knew what anyone within twenty feet of me was thinking.
I only had Baron for company with everyone else keeping their distance. Our tent was the only one within a hundred-yard radius; all the men were terrified of what happened to Dorian’s tent when he pitched his near me, and the sheriff had made his order clear.
Every day, I followed Baron around; I had no other choice. I completed physical training alongside him each morning. I often pretended that it was Little John or Will Scarlet next to me instead of the hulking beast that was Baron. In the afternoons, I read over Baron’s shoulder as he wrote up endless reports, hoping for information, but soon lost interest. They were all boring things like the rate at which firewood was being used, the amount of feed that the horses needed, and attendance rolls of who had reported on time for morning training versus who was late.
I stared across the tent every night as long as possible, wanting to ensure that Baron didn’t move an inch from his side of the tent. I didn’t want him anywhere near me. But as the days wore on, it became wearisome. There were an increasing number of instances when one or both of us fell asleep despite our best efforts, only to jolt awake in panic.
Still my father didn’t return for me, and I started to feel slightly abandoned. I knew that he had every confidence in my abilities, but I was failing. On every mission before this one, I had succeeded, often with great ease. But now… It was depressing to realize my own ineptitude.
The nights grew colder day by day. Animals went into hibernation, and I wished I too could sleep until spring turned the world warm again. It became more and more uncomfortable at night. I was constantly numb from the cold, even with the blankets pulled tightly over me. If I wasn’t able to escape soon, I might end up freezing to death.
We had to search for wood every day to keep up with the fire’s constant need for fuel. After the fourth guard refused to chop wood near me, Baron was finally granted access to an axe so he could chop his own firewood, under the strict condition that I was not to be allowed anywhere near the tool.
I briefly considered trying to overpower Baron and use the axe to chop off his hand so I could remove the handcuff, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to carry out such a gruesome feat. Besides, I had sworn an oath to use only the force necessary to defend myself when I had been sworn in as a member of the Sherwood Forest Merry Men. Though, I considered, if the handcuff had been on Dorian or the sheriff, I probably would have acted on the impulse without hesitation.
At first, Baron was diligent in keeping me away from the axe. But eventually, after I had offered multiple times, he sometimes allowed me to chop logs close to our tent with very closesupervision. I relished the manual labor. I had been longing for some physical activity besides the repetitive pushups, squats, and runs that were the extent of physical training at this camp. My carefree days of dashing about in the forest with my father seemed like a distant memory now, even though it had only been a few weeks. Baron and I would trade off tasks. One of us would chop sections of logs, and the other would stack the wood. On one such occasion, I was tasked with chopping, and Baron had reached down to pick up the next section of trunk when a dreadful hissing filled the air.
Snakes? That was impossible! It was far too cold for snakes to be out and about. Then I saw Baron, frozen with his hand out toward the log. A small opening revealed dozens of adders coiled together in brumation, hissing menacingly. Any movement from Baron, and they would strike.
I still held the axe in both my hands. Will Scarlet’s training drummed in my ears.Dominant hand on top, aim straight, release at eye level, spin one full revolution.
I hurled the axe. It spun end over end and buried itself deep in the log—right through the gap where the snakes writhed, just inches away from Baron’s hand. A clean strike. Their bodies twisted and stilled, blocked in, trapped.
Baron jerked back with a sharp, startled curse, and staggered away from the log. Our chain dragged me right along after him, snapping tight as I was yanked after him. My boots skidding in the dirt, I gagged, clutching at the iron links, trying to force even a hand’s breadth of slack between my grip and the collar digging into my throat
Once well clear of the snake-filled log, Baron looked back at the half-chopped section of tree. The axe head was fixed into the log, handle protruding into the air. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you aiming that hunk of metal at me or the snakes?”
“I hit what I aim at, big fella.”
