He leered. “Well, you are quick, aren’t you, missy?” His voice was low and grating. Just as I’d guessed, he was a large man with thick arms, matted hair, and a beard so unkempt it nearly hid his mouth. The short sword hung in his hand, black with grime and dark patches that I suspected weren’t all rust.
I ground my teeth. My pack, cloak, and knives sat on the chair by the door, on his side of the room, completely useless to me now, unless I could somehow disarm him first. Unlikely.
Father had always insisted the Merry Men sleep ready for a fight, and I silently thanked him that I’d kept my boots on. But leaving my knife belt on that chair? Foolish. I could almost hear Father’s chiding. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The man started circling the bed, eyes glinting, lips curling. There was nothing behind me but a solid wall. The door rattled—more voices, heavy boots outside. I was running out of time.
He lunged.
I ducked beneath his swing, the blade slicing through a lock of my hair. I snatched the pitcher from the bedside table and hurled it at his head. It shattered across his shoulder, dousing him with cold water but barely slowing him at all. He roared,swinging again. I caught his wrist with both hands and twisted hard. He staggered, surprised, but his strength overpowered mine, and he wrenched free with ease.
Before he could recover, I drove my knee into his stomach. He grunted, but didn’t fall. The pommel of his sword cracked against my forearm, sending pain shooting up to my elbow.
I stumbled back, chest heaving, and knew I wouldn’t win this fight. Not here. Not unarmed.
I spun on my heel and bolted for the window. There was no time to fumble with the lock. I sprinted the length of the room, threw up my arms to shield my face, and dove headfirst through the glass.
The pane shattered, the shards cascading around me as I tumbled into the fresh air. I hit the ground hard, rolled to break the fall, and came up gasping—only to find myself surrounded by a ring of armed men. Their surprise lasted only a heartbeat before blades were drawn and boots advanced.
Still winded from my narrow escape through the window, I couldn’t evade the cascade of hands that descended upon me. One man clamped a cloth over my nose and mouth. It smelled of sour grapes and an herb I couldn’t place. I struggled ferociously, but whatever the cloth had been doused in sapped my strength faster than I could have disarmed any opponent.
Against my will, I felt my body relax, and I lost all consciousness.
CHAPTER 3
Mind muddled from the drugs, I groggily began to regain consciousness several times. On each occasion, my nose and mouth were covered, the same scent returned, and I would slip away again. Eventually, I had the presence of mind to remain perfectly still while I slowly became aware of my surroundings.
Instead of opening my eyes, I allowed my other senses to take over. A woodsy, piney scent teased my nose, but the air was too still for me to be out in the open. Heavy breathing rasped near me, and the sound of muffled conversation led me to believe that I was in some sort of temporary shelter in the forest. The man breathing heavily must be the one tasked with the duty of forcing me back into unconsciousness if I awoke.
My brain felt sluggish and slow, and the sensation was unsettling. Now, more than ever, I needed to think clearly. I forced myself to monitor my breathing patterns, careful not to betray the slightest difference in my level of consciousness. My body rested on some sort of poor-quality bedroll, but my hands, scratched and cut from my dive through the window, touched dirt, and I gained more confidence in my guess that I was in a tent or temporary shelter.
While a few aches and pains let me know I undoubtedly had some scrapes and bruises, nothing seemed to be broken or gushing blood, thankfully, but hunger twisted my stomach into knots. How long had I been out? Through my closed eyelids, I sensed the bright sunshine. Was it the same day? Or had I slept all night and into the next day?
The faint but unpleasant familiar odor of the drug used on me since my abduction wafted toward me on the breeze that snuck in through the tent flap, and I opened one eye the tiniest sliver to take stock of what I could see in a matter of seconds before closing it again. A boot was near my head, close to a small bowl on the ground with a cloth draped inside it. Whatever the concoction was, I was positive this was the substance I was being drugged with.
I forced myself to think through the haze. If I so much as stirred too soon, he’d press that reeking cloth over my face again, and I’d sink back into oblivion. No, it was better to wait. Let my body regain its strength. When the time came, I would need to move fast and strike hard. I would not be bested twice.
Shame burned hotter than fear. To be caught so easily—in broad daylight—was unthinkable. Father would never let me live it down, nor would the others. I could already imagine Will Scarlet’s teasing grin and Little John’s ridiculous eyebrow raise. No, I had to find a way out of this before word reached them. I’d sooner face a dozen armed guards than them mocking me.
Footsteps crunched outside the tent, heavy and deliberate. The flap rustled, and a familiar gravelly voice cut through the muffled quiet. “Is she still out?”
It was him—the brute from the inn.
“Sure is,” came another voice, high-pitched and nasally, the kind that whined even when speaking softly. “She should be waking soon. It’s nearly time.”
The tone alone made my skin crawl. I pictured a weasel of a man, narrow-shouldered and trembling in the shadow of his companion. Yet the thought twisted bitterly in my chest. If he was so weak and cowardly, then what did that make me—trapped and helpless and at the mercy of such a pathetic man?
I clenched my jaw, forcing the question down.
“Are you sure it’s her?” the gruff voice asked again, closer this time.
The air grew thick, the scent of damp canvas and campfire smoke overpowering the scent of the drug. My pulse quickened. Soon, they’d know I was awake—and when they did, I’d have only one chance at escape.
“Well, no,” the man seated beside my head admitted at last, his tone reluctant. “But the tavern keeper swore it was her. He said he had Robin Hood’s daughter under his roof. And we all know Hood’s got that same red hair. Pretty thing, isn’t she?”
He paused. I could feel the weight of his gaze travel over me. Every instinct screamed to recoil, to strike, todo something, but I kept perfectly still, forcing my breathing to remain steady, feigning the heavy rhythm of sleep.
I silently cursed myself. Of all the inns in all of Nottingham, I had to choose the one run by a loose-tongued fool. And only a few miles from the sheriff’s own camp, no less.Brilliant choice, Laurel.I bit back the urge to sigh. Was that where I was now—deep in the sheriff’s camp?
