I nodded, trying not to wince. In a blink, Baron was gone.
Tildy pressed another clean cloth into my good hand. “Come on, girl. No fainting now. We’ve work to do before any of you die on my floor. I know you don’t feel well, but I need your hands.”
Will Scarlet and Little John lowered Father to the table and Tildy hurried over to tend to his many injuries.
I surveyed the room and internally sighed. No one could travel in this state. The men could barely rise from their seats after the few miles’ walk from the castle. I began to run my hand through my hair, distressed at the prospect of moving them, but stopped when my hand came away caked with residue from the moat and tangles snarled under my fingers. We were all a mess.
The front door banged open, and an alarmed shout rose from the entrance. “Tildy! Tildy! Blast it all ta pieces, woman, come quick! We been overrun by vagabonds, we ‘ave!”
I hurried to head off Sam. When he saw me, he started in shock and held his hands up defensively. “I ‘aven’t been runnin’ me mouth, miss! ‘onest, I ‘aven’t! Why, I was just sayin’ to me wife Tildy when ye lef’ yesterday that me tongue was worf keepin’, it is! And I done abided by my part of the bargain, I ‘ave! Ain’t no need to go threatenin’ an ol’ farmer such as meself, and now our cottage done be burstin’ at the seams wiff?—"
I grimaced, remembering how I’d been so brusque with Sam before, and now needed to beg for aid. “I’m sorry I said that, about your tongue,” I told him, doing my best to smile through the pain. “You seem like a wonderful man, and we need your help.”
I hastily explained the circumstances, pointing out Father and some of his men. Sam’s eyes grew wider and wider as I told him of our dire need for a hideout if people came searching for us.
“Robin ‘ood, ye say?” he said keenly, peering curiously at Father. “That caint be ‘im, on account of this poor fella is in a right poor condition. Caint no one ‘urt Robin ‘ood, they caint.”
“I wish that were true!” coughed Father from his spot at the table. Tildy had him laid out on the table, shirt ripped open to expose the sprawling bruising on his body, and was applying poultice after poultice to his wounds then bandaging them neatly. Father rolled his head backward to try and see who had been speaking about him. “Sam, is that you?”
Sam swelled with pride. “Vat it is, me dear man, vat it is! Do you ‘onest and truly remember me?”
Father grinned. His face was now significantly cleaner, Tildy having sponged off a good deal of dirt and dried blood. “I honest and truly do. Your voice is very memorable!”
Sam beamed. “Tildy! Tildy, darlin’, did ye ‘ear what Robin ‘ood just said about me?”
Tildy nodded pleasantly. “Yes, Sam dear.” She finished with Father and turned her attention to me, throwing a critical eye over my bedraggled appearance.
“Dearie, draw some water from the well and take a quick bath in the room behind you there, and then, would you throw on a clean dress and apron and start on the breakfast? These men look hungry enough to eat the eggs raw, if we let them. But only clean cooks are allowed in my kitchen.”
After a very rushed bath to remove all my dried blood and the residue from the moat, I headed toward the cupboard she indicated. The aprons hanging there were all violently pink and splashed with bright blue, yellow, and purple flowers. My eyes watered just looking at them.
“I don’t need an apron, mum. I’ll be all right,” I told her, and began to walk away from the cupboard, but Tildy put her hands on her wide hips.
“Any cook in my kitchen wears an apron, no matter who they are!” For such a warm, motherly figure, she had a no-nonsense air about her. “Put it on.”
I meekly returned to the cupboard and pulled on an apron.
CHAPTER 33
Baron pushed open the front door and was greeted by the sight of most of the band sitting shirtless in a row as Tildy went from man to man, sponging off the months’ worth of dirt that had accumulated on them and cutting and trimming each man’s now unruly hair and beards.
I was serving the men fried potatoes and eggs, my hair knotted into a bun and pink flowery apron donned. Thanks to my boots having been soaked in the filthy moat, I was also barefoot. Baron put a hand up to his mouth to conceal a smile.
“One word about how I look and you die!” I told him frostily as I passed.
It was that moment that Little John pushed the door open from the kitchen and entered with a tray laden with mugs. He was shirtless but also had on a flowery pink apron. He was so large that it was tied around his chest and the bottom of the apron barely reached his thighs. He strutted around, flouncing the apron, and pretended to curtsy to each man as he offered them a mug of water. “Pink is my color, isn’t it?” he said while laughing jovially. Despite their injuries, the others joined in.
I smiled. It was so good to be back with them at long last. They didn’t call Father’s troop Merry Men for nothing.
After serving food and drinks, helping Tildy scrub the men clean, and binding up wounds, I was assigned to mend some of Sam’s old nightshirts for the men to wear. My sewing skills had always been mediocre at best but now, hindered by my shoulder, my seams came out crooked and uneven. “It isn’t much, but they’re clean!” Tildy said, passing out the clean apparel.
We ran out of shirts after the fifth man, and Tildy began piecing more shirts together from her rag bag. Unsurprisingly, there was an impressive collection of pink and flowered scraps of cloth. Little John and Dale both insisted that they wanted ‘fancy’ shirts and positively glowed when they donned their oversized feminine-looking nightshirts.
“Are they always this way?” Baron asked, amused as he watched Dale and Little John twirl in circles, insisting that each person admire their outfit and paying lavish compliments to each other.
“Always,” I said, smiling fondly at the men. Even riddled with sores, hindered by broken bones, and half-starved, the men still found the energy to joke with each other, urging us to join in the fun. Sam seemed to be having the time of his life, entertaining one man after another with his long-winded stories.
I glanced at Baron, who was mesmerized by the light banter now volleying back and forth amongst the group. “They’re so cheerful.” Baron sounded wistful.
