Father heard. He looked at me once and held up his hands. “Deal.”
Guards rushed in to bind Father and his men. The sheriff released me, and I tumbled to the ground. Baron hastened to help me up, but I wrenched my arm out of his grip and lurched toward Father.
“You shouldn’t have. You didn’t need to… I would’ve found a way,” I said. I could feel heat building behind my eyes. I would not,would notcry in front of Father or any of the sheriff’s men that surrounded us.
“Now you have a way.” Father smiled at me. “Besides,” he added, his voice rising to rally his dejected men, “We’ve gotten ourselves out of worse situations than this, haven’t we, boys? This’ll be fun!” The men gave a cheer in an attempt to buoy up my spirits—and their own. “We’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”
The sheriff pulled me back from Father and watched until the men were all bound in a line. “Take these men to Prince John to await trial. Tell him that Blackwell sends a mighty gift,” he commanded. “Triple guard at all times. And as for you,” he said to Baron, “get that girl back to your tent.”
Baron looked so utterly bewildered that I was convinced his confusion was genuine. “The tent? But I thought…”
Father let off a string of profanities as he struggled against his bonds. “Blackwell, you filthy liar! You said you’d free my daughter! Let her go or I’ll hunt you until my dying day!”
The sheriff laughed openly. “One more threat from you and that day will be today. How many times have we played this game, Robin Hood? You think I would let you escape the first chance you got? Or have her go running after you and cause even more trouble than she already has here? No. No, your daughter will remain here as our guest. And if any one of you puts so much as one toe out of line, Iwillhear about it, and shewilldie. A slow, painful death too, I might add.” He placed a grimy hand on my head, and stroked my hair in a long, sickening caress that made goosebumps erupt all over my skin. Father blanched.
I stamped backward, hard, with the heel of my boot. The sharp edge caught the sheriff between his foot arch and ankle, and I ground my foot in savagely. When he doubled over to clasp his injured foot, I pivoted to administer a vicious uppercut to his chin. He was jerked upright once more and sent reeling backwards.
“Atta girl!” Little John called encouragingly from his position in the line of captured Merry Men.
The sheriff staggered back several paces, eyes blazing and hatred etched into every line of his face. “Take them away!” he called to the guards that held my father and his men.
I watched Father being dragged away. Once they were gone, the sheriff turned back to look at me. “If I didn’t need you as leverage over your blasted father, I’d skin you alive this very moment for what you just did,” he hissed ominously. “And I’d relish every second of hearing you scream.”
He leered. “But just because I need to keep you alive doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself. Let’s see if we can’t make your dear father hear his little girl one last time. A send-off present for him, if you will. Hold her, Baron!”
The sheriff walked to the armory and brought back a whip, the leather glinting in the sunlight. At the sight of it, my stomach dropped and I forgot to breathe. Cold sweat prickled at myhairline. My fingers found the cold chain attached to my collar, and I clutched it as if it would help me hold myself together. I set my jaw and forced my shoulders to square, but my hands betrayed me and shook. I would not give him the sound he wanted, I told myself, counting each shallow breath. I wouldn’t let a single scream escape my lips, no matter what. I wouldn’t give the sheriff the satisfaction and I wouldn’t subject my father to listening to that.
I thought I was prepared for it when the sheriff lifted the whip. What I wasn’t prepared for was a blur of movement as Baron stepped forward. The whip never struck my back. Instead, Baron’s hand clamped around the handle, yanking it from the sheriff’s grasp.
“This girl’s under my jurisdiction, Sheriff,” Baron said, his voice low and dangerous. “Her punishment is mine—and mine alone—to carry out. It’ll be my pleasure to handle this for you.”
The camp went still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. The sheriff’s face darkened, his lips parting as though to protest, but then the muscles in his jaw worked. He took a step and winced.
“We’re done here,” Baron growled. He seized my upper arm in a tight grip and hauled me toward his tent, the whip dangling ominously from his other hand. My feet stumbled to keep up with his long strides, and the links of our chain rattled with each step.
I twisted to look back once. The sheriff was bent over, massaging his injured foot and glaring daggers after us. A grim satisfaction flickered through me at the sight. I hoped I’d crushed a tendon or two. But beneath that satisfaction, a chill gathered in my chest. Baron still held the whip. Would this be like the last time, when I avoided my punishment, or had he finally had enough?
His entire demeanor shifted and softened the moment our campsite came into view. Without a word, he marched straight to the fire pit and hurled the whip into the flames. The leather hissed as it curled and blackened, and something inside me unknotted at the sight.
Releasing me, he stooped to pick up the cloak I had torn earlier in my frantic attempt to escape him, shook the dust from it, and tucked it under his arm.
“Go,” he murmured. “Get inside.”
I didn’t even think to disobey. My father’s capture had left me numb to the world, aside from that flickering satisfaction I felt when I thought of wounding the sheriff. I stepped into the tent first as he instructed, but he paused at the entrance, scanning the woods before ducking inside after me.
Gone was the sharp tone he’d used with the sheriff. Baron knelt beside me, lowering himself slowly and reaching out. His expression didn’t hold anger any longer, only concern.
“Let me see,” he said quietly. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they brushed my hair aside. The moment his touch grazed the skin at my neck, I sucked in a breath.
“He never should’ve put his hands on you.” His words, and the softness behind them, nearly undid me. I blinked hard. The image of my father being dragged away kept flashing through my mind and I couldn’t get rid of it. I was still a prisoner. My father was gone. None of that had changed.
“I’m so sorry, Laurel,” he whispered. “I truly thought you’d be freed.”
I snorted and the sound came harsher than I intended. I didn’t want pity—least of all his. “And here I was thinking you were smarter than the average dunce around here. Shows how wrong I was.” The words came out like barbs, and Iwantedthem to sting. I wanted to wound Baron the way everything else was wounding me. I wanted to lash out atsomeone,anyone. I was still imprisoned, and now my father and his closest friends were too, all because of me.
No. That wasn’t fair. I forced the thought to straighten itself. It was because of the sheriff. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I cursed him and anyone he ever called family or a friend. But then the curses curved inward, turning on me just as sharply. I cursed myself for making my father believe he had to trade himself for my freedom. I cursed myself for not being strong enough, quick enough, clever enough to escape before it came to this.
I was weak. Useless. A liability.
