Dale pranced over to where I sat by Baron. Even though there was a slight limp in his walk and his cheeks were sunken, he looked determined to keep up the energy of the group. He extended a hand to me. “A dance, m’lady?”
Baron threw out his arm protectively. “She’s injured.”
“I’ll manage,” I said. Tildy had bound me up well enough that as long as we went slow, I would be fine.
“Aye!” called Will Stutely. “Let’s have us some music! Have you a fiddle, master Sam?”
Sam produced a fiddle, and Little John tuned the strings and then struck up a jaunty tune. Dale and I danced around the tiny cottage, and the rest of the men clapped or stomped their feet.
Growing up, I had been one of the very few girls in Sherwood Forest, so I was often called upon to be the dance partner to all the Merry Men at one time or another, and each had all taken it upon themselves to teach me their favorite dance.
“What about the bear man?” Sam called from the corner. “Does the bodyguard dance?”
Baron shook his head but Dale walked over to Baron and pulled him out of his seat. “It’s easy! Just put your hand on my waist here as if I were a girl, and hold this ‘un here?—”
I laughed as I watched Dale in his pink flowered nightshirt trying to teach Baron to dance. Dale was significantly shorter than Baron, and the men roared with laughter as Dale had Baron twirl him under his arm.
Father and most of the others didn’t join in the dancing, either too weak or injured for such things. But they all smiled and bounced their heads in time to the beat while still nursing their injuries.
“That’s just cruel, that is, Dale!” Lincoln called as he watched Dale try and teach Baron to dip him. “Let him dance with a real woman—you’re too ugly to be mistaken for one! And I don’t want to see any more of your leg raises when you get dipped!”
A chorus of approval met these words, and I was pushed over to Baron. If we’d been going faster, I suspect that Baron might have trodden on my toes, but with as slow and gentle as he was being with me, I avoided aggravating my old injuriesandsustaining any new ones.
The men sang of tales of their triumphs over the evil Sheriff of Nottingham, the accomplishments of the famous Robin Hood, and King Richard’s unfortunately sized ears. The latterwas one of Dale’s favorite songs, and he requested it over and over again.
Eventually, Baron and I had to excuse ourselves from the merriment to survey the area around Sam’s farm and assess if we were being followed. The men had hooted that now it was Tildy’s turn to dance with Dale and Sam. The fiddle’s tune grew fainter and fainter until it finally disappeared as we trekked along a path parallel to the main road.
“The men like you,” Baron said as we scouted through the woods. “You all seem like one big family.”
I smiled. I had always doted on the men, sometimes more like a mother than a surrogate daughter, and they positively adored me. “We are a family. They always make life fun.”
It was true. Each man was at least twenty-five years my senior, all with grey flecked through their hair and beards, but they all still managed to give off an air of immense energy and youth. After months in prison, I was glad they had the morning to have their morale boosted.
Baron nodded slowly, as if deep in thought. “It’s very different from how our camp was.”
“Well, I can’t exactly imagine your father dressing in pink and dancing with you,” I teased cautiously. I wasn’t sure how sensitive Baron would be about the subject.
Baron gave a tiny grin. “No, he isn’t that type.”
We walked on, still alert for any signs of soldiers or guards, but all was quiet. Perhaps they had swallowed the bait after all. I even climbed a tree to look farther out but still saw nothing. I slid down the trunk, landing cat-like on the forest floor. We seemed to be safe, at least for the time being.
“Nothing,” I reported. It seemed that our plan had been successful. Baron and I continued to survey for hours, but there was not even a hint of an oncoming attack, and we eventually returned to the cottage.
The day passed peaceably as everyone rested and recovered. For a while, the house still echoed with the easy laughter of that morning. Men teased each other about how badly they’d danced and they placed wagers on who would snore the loudest at night. I placed a hefty bet that Baron would win.
But as the hours slipped by and the novelty of freedom settled and the pain of the injuries nudged us, everyone began to shift their conversations to discuss what to do next. How long would we stay? When would everyone be well enough to travel? Would we be hunted and tracked? Baron stayed mostly near the door, keeping watch without being asked, and each time he stepped outside, several of the men exchanged looks and stopped their hushed conversations.
That evening, Little John sat everyone down, looking uncharacteristically grim, and announced, “We need to discuss a few things.”
We all waited expectantly and Little John turned his attention to Baron. “Back at the castle, you said you’re Blackwell’s son. Is that true, or were you making that up?”
Baron stiffened but held his head high. “It’s true.”
“He helped me escape!” I interjected quickly. “We can trust Baron. He was the only one who protected me all those months I was held hostage and he just sprung you lot from jail, unless you forgot.”
Little John held his hand up to stop me. “We’re aware of that, and we’re grateful.”
The rest of the men murmured words of thanks, nodding their heads toward Baron, but I still caught the meaningful looks exchanged between members and knew that those looks must have mirrored the ones I’d given Baron when I discovered his parentage.
