Free wrists had never felt better. I let the rope fall from my hands and rolled my shoulders. A grin crept up, half triumph over my success, half amusement at their mouths hanging open. Had they truly thought they could containtheRobin of Locksley’s daughter? I’d been captured for less than a day, that was it.
I left them where they lay, snoring softly beneath the stars, and melted into the familiar cover of the surrounding forest as the camp’s fires blinked behind me, innocent and unbothered.
My good fortune was short-lived. Still within earshot of the camp, I heard shouts rise—sharp, angry, and alarmed all at once. I quickened my pace, fingers tightening around the stolen dagger in my hand, the metal cool and reassuring against my palm. If they did hunt me down, all the better for me, and all the worse for whichever unfortunate soul found me.
I broke into a run, light-footed enough to keep my steps quiet, but still fast enough to put distance between myself and the camp behind me. Unless they kept an exceptionally skilled tracker among them, they would never pick up my trail in the dark.
I forced myself to slow to a steady jog. As much as I wanted to sprint headlong into the night, I could not afford to burn through what little strength I still had. My throat was dry and my stomach was shriveled; it must have been more than a day since I’d last eaten or drunk anything. Every step reminded me of my hunger.
After what felt like half an hour of silent movement—nothing but my breathing and the soft thud of my feet—I slowed to a careful walk. I needed to think. The sheriff’s camp had horses; surely they would mount and follow. I needed a hiding place, somewhere that granted both cover and advantage. I gazed upwards.
Few people ever thought to look up when searching.
I scanned the trees around me, the moon filtering through branches in pale, wavering silver. A sturdy oak stood slightly apart from the others, its lowest branch high—far higher than the “weak little tavern girl” I had pretended to be would ever reach.
Perfect.
I backed up several paces, feeling the soft pine needles shift beneath my boots. Then I ran, placing one foot against the rough bark to propel myself upward. My fingers caught the branch—barely. My muscles protested, but I hauled myself up, hooking my knee and rolling over to perch on the limb. The tree was immensely tall. I climbed higher, careful, nimble, until the branches began to creak and bend under my weight. No one would even be able to see me up here, let alone follow me.
At last I settled, pressing my back against the broad trunk. The canopy around me was deep and cool, smelling of pine sap, moss and autumn leaves.
I closed my eyes, a slow smile spreading across my face. I was safe for the time being, and very far from helpless.
Father would be proud.
CHAPTER 6
Istayed hidden all night, until nearly dawn. Early on, torches had bobbed through the darkness and I heard men tromping through the underbrush beneath my perch. Their voices carried upward, sharp and angry, cursing the low-ranking guards who had fallen asleep while on duty and allowed their prisoner to slip away. As the hours passed, the searchers’ numbers dwindled until at last, the woods fell quiet again.
I did my best not to move, but the crisp autumn wind bit at my exposed face and hands, and my legs slowly began to go numb from keeping the same position. I shifted my weight only when I absolutely had to, wincing each time the painful needle-pricks of returning sensation rushed up and down my limbs.
While I waited in the dark, I watched the stars through the treetop canopy and studied their slow, wheeling movement. By their guidance, I marked the direction that would lead me back to Sherwood Forest. When two full hours passed without so much as a twig snapping below, I finally allowed myself to descend.
I climbed awkwardly down to the lowest branch and dropped to the ground. My legs crumpled beneath me. They were stifffrom the cold and from hours spent crouched in one position and felt like unresponsive stumps. I would not be walking properly for several minutes at least.
"Impressive," a deep voice said behind me.
My heart nearly leapt out of my throat as I turned to look. A dark figure stepped out from behind a nearby tree, his form huge against the faint gray of approaching dawn. I tried to get up and run, but my legs refused to obey. Tingling shot from my hips to the very tips of my toes, and I stumbled backward over a thick root, falling hard on my backside. The figure advanced, solidifying into a massive man. I scrambled to draw the dagger I had taken, but he kicked it out of my hand before I could so much as lift my arm.
He lifted me easily off the ground, ignoring my furious thrashing, and bound my wrists tightly behind me with a length of coarse rope. Cursing my traitorous limbs, I tried every tactic I knew. I drove my elbow backward, tried to butt his head with my own, twisted and jerked. I managed a solid kick to his shin, but he didn’t even grunt in pain. How had I failed to hear this mountain of a man moving through the woods?
We marched back to camp as the sun rose. My hands were tied behind me and my captor also walked behind, holding the rope much too tightly for me to break away. As light spread across the clearing, I finally saw his face. He was younger than I expected, perhaps only a few years older than myself, and tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built. His shaggy dark hair and sun-tanned skin contrasted sharply with my own red hair and much paler complexion.
"How did you find me?" I asked, still debating whether to fall back into the helpless tavern girl façade or let my anger and humiliation burn through.
"I tracked you," he said nonchalantly. "Your footprints led to that tree. There was bark scraped from the trunk a few feet up.You probably ran and used the tree to push yourself upward. Am I right?"
A thousand curses for my arrogance! Naturally, a group of that size would have a tracker or two amongst them. I had been careless. I clamped my jaw shut, refusing to give him any information.
The young man stepped to my side, studying me with a casual grin on his face. "Want to tell me how you escaped?"
Now was my chance to feign ignorance and naivety. I widened my eyes. “The guards just fell asleep.”
He gave me a shrewd look. "And you just happen to have sophor berry juice staining your fingers?"
"What?" I wrinkled my nose in confusion. "I don’t know what…sah-fur berries are." But the slight maroon stain on my fingertips was enough evidence that my playacting fell pathetically limp.
He smiled, slow and knowing. "So far, we’ve had three guards who mysteriously fell asleep while watching you. What an interesting coincidence."
