“Gerald and Pippi,” I replied without hesitating. “We just began work at the town tavern. We moved here from Barnsdale.”
The sheriff’s face shifted—first to suspicion, then to something cold and unyielding. “Just a moment, my dear.” He rose and hurried out. I strained to catch his hissed conversation with Graves.
“Are you sure it’s her? If we’ve taken the wrong girl, that whole town’ll be up in arms and we’ll be run out.”
“It’s her,” Graves answered. “Trevors says she was the girl with Robin Hood last year in Doncaster.”
A hot prick of panic flared. Last year, Ihadbeen in Doncaster with Father. If someone recognized me, there would be no mercy. Still, I had gotten out of worse. I’d slipped ropes, fooled guards, and escaped before. I just needed to do it again. If they were gullible enough to believe my act, I could be back in the woods before sundown.
The sheriff returned, and whatever civility he had feigned before had evaporated. His smile hardened, his arms folding across his chest. “I’ll get straight to it,” he said, voice slick as oil. “You might know an old friend of mine. Robin Hood.”
“Oh yes, sir—I knows Robin Hood!” I piped up eagerly, letting the practiced flutter of my voice do the work. “Ma’s tells the tale how he busted her out of jail when Prince John taxed her near to death. A right brave chap he is. Why, I was just saying to my pa only the other day?—”
The sheriff cut me off, the interruption a blade. “Are you his daughter?”
For a heartbeat my mouth went dry. I blinked wide, pretending genuine puzzlement. “Robin Hood’s daughter, sir? I didn’t know he had one. My pa’s Gerald—Pippi and Gerald—tavern folk. They’ll be worried.”
He stepped nearer, and I felt a pang of apprehension. He had the upper hand, and my only defense was a feeble story that would crumble upon the slightest inspection. Up close, I could smell the faint stench of old sweat in his cloak, coupled with the sharp tang of iron. My brow knotted together and his gaze probed my face, slow and calculating, as if he had all the time in the world.
“Graves!” he barked.
Graves stepped forward into the tent, bringing the smell of woodsmoke and horse with him. “Sir?”
“Ride back to town,” the sheriff ordered. “See if a Gerald and Pippi are employed at the tavern where this girl wasfound. If they exist, tell them their runaway daughter will be returned in the morning.” He fixed me with a look that promised consequences. “If there is no such couple, as I suspect—” His voice went colder. “—come back here and we’ll coax the truth out of this girl.”
I bit the inside of my lip.
Graves left. The sheriff summoned two more guards, one narrow as a rail and the other as broad as a barrel, and told them to escort me back out and watch me until Graves returned. The stout one seized the rope and began to lead me off, the knots rasping against my raw wrists.
Outside, the sky was fading into evening. Streaks of purple and pink bled into the coming dark. The air tasted of damp earth and the sort of metal that hung around blacksmith shops. All of this I observed while my mind whirred. When Graves found Gerald and Pippi were figments of my imagination, my whole story would be snuffed out.
I needed to escape before he returned.
CHAPTER 5
For the rest of the evening I watched and waited, keeping my eyes peeled for anything that might turn the situation to my advantage. With a camp full of thieves and cutthroats around me, an attempt at a grand, dramatic escape would be foolish; subtlety promised better returns. Besides, my last bit of theatrics had blown up in my face. Best to look unobtrusive and let their arrogance do the work for me.
I sat quietly, keeping my face blank and seemingly oblivious, as I stared awestruck at the vibrant hues of the sunset and tapped a soft rhythm on my thigh, pretending to bounce along to an imaginary tune.
My guards, two men named Goric and Flavius, took little interest in me. They were vocal in their contempt, grumbling that guarding a “vapid lass” was a bore and that Robin Hood wouldn’t trouble himself for a mere girl. I was grateful for their remarks. Every sneer reinforced their idea that I was harmless. I helped the notion along, asking loudly what on earth they were saying and feigning confusion about several of their vocabulary words. They sniggered and rolled their eyes and became more complacent by the moment.
Goric was the larger of the two, slow to anger but also equally slow to think or analyze. Flavius was a wiry, twitchy sort and was sharper than Goric, though not sharp enough to foil my plans.
As twilight bled into night, the last thin shafts of sun died and the campfires took on the responsibility of providing light. Smoke and roasting meat scented the air; the scrape of a spoon in a wooden bowl punctuated the periodic guffaws. I shifted closer to a low berry bush tucked beside our fire, its leaves dark and its fruit a deep maroon with clusters like tiny bruises hidden under shadowed green. Sophor berries. I remembered Will Stutely saying with a word of caution, “Berries maroon, make a man swoon.”
Without drawing notice, I pinched a handful of berries and waited. Patience, I reminded myself. Opportunity always presented itself to those who waited and were ready to seize it when presented.
When supper was brought over for them, my two guards ate like they’d never seen food before. Goric slurped his stew and belched loudly. Flavius fidgeted between clattering spoonfuls, and when he rose to use the privy, I knew my moment had come. The second Goric’s back was turned, I leaned over Flavius’s bowl. My fingers make quick work of crushing the berries, and I let the bitter, dark pulp fall into the waiting bowl. With a nervous glance at Goric, I took a moment to give the stew a stir, hoping Flavius wouldn’t notice the color difference when he returned.
Flavius came back to his place and, as if on cue, Goric rose to relieve himself. As Flavius dipped his spoon into his stew’s now tainted contents, I licked my lips, feigning a desperate hunger. I reached for Goric’s unattended bowl, dropping the hidden contents of my hand in as I did so, and stirred what was left of his meal. “May I have some?” I asked, injecting a feeble, tremulous quality into my voice.
Flavius snorted and snatched the bowl from my hands, then snarled, “I think not, lassie. Yer not a royal guest, ya know.”
When Goric returned from the woods, Flavius thrust the bowl back into his hands. “This greedy little wench thought she could sneak some of yer food, Goric! But I stopped ‘er in time.”
Fools, I thought in satisfaction as they wolfed down their laced stew. The change wasn’t immediate but it came quickly enough. Not twenty minutes later, their conversation slowed. Goric’s hearty chortles lost volume and Flavius’s spoon dropped. The firelight lengthened on their faces as they sagged and nodded, eyelids drooping. Within moments, both of them had slumped, heavy as sacks, as their bodies succumbed to slumber.
I could feel my green eyes flash with excitement as I rose without sound and crouched over Goric so I could take his dagger. The steel made a soft hush as it slid from the scabbard. I paused as he gave a sleepy groan and moved slightly, but the moment passed, and after one careful slice through my bonds, the rope fell away.
