Baron stared at it, stunned, before a slow, almost disbelieving smile pulled at his mouth. He reached out and took Father’s hand, and Father immediately covered it with his other, clasping him firmly and without reservation.
For a heartbeat, Baron just stood there, looking as though someone had handed him a piece of a life he’d never dared imagine he could have.
The men broke out cheering and Sam bounced up and down and cried, “Wha’ a good chap that Robin ‘ood is, such a good chap! Three cheers for Robin ‘ood! Let’s ‘ave it, lads!”
CHAPTER 34
We held a quiet ceremony for Jerome and Much the Miller’s Son. Baron stayed with Sam and Tildy in their cottage while we gathered privately outside. He had never truly known the two men we’d lost; he’d only glimpsed them once at their arrests. Bringing him into this grief—ourgrief—felt wrong. And though the men had chosen to trust Baron, the shadow of his father’s responsibility for their deaths still hung in the air. This mourning was for family alone.
We had no bodies to bury, only memories to share. In an open clearing behind the cottage, we lit a ring of candles—small flames pushing back the dusk, flickering like the second heartbeat of the forest itself. Each man stepped forward in turn, pulling a folded paper from his pocket to share a story, a joke, or a quiet moment with Jerome or Much that still lived somewhere inside him.
When it was my turn, my hands trembled. I read my words aloud, though halfway through I wasn’t sure the sound of my voice was mine at all. The ache inside felt like it would swallow me whole.
One by one, we held our papers over the candles. The flames caught, curling the edges inward, turning ink to smoke anddrifting ash. We watched each glowing scrap rise and disappear into the darkening sky.
Perhaps, wherever Jerome and Much were now, they would see the drifting embers and know how fiercely they were still loved.
We stayedwith Sam and his wife for several weeks. It caused me serious anxiety to be within a few miles of Prince John’s castle and the accompanying garrison of soldiers, but as Baron pointed out, no one would expect us to be so close and wouldn’t look for us right under their noses.
We all took turns surveying the area multiple times each day, watching for the sheriff’s men, or Prince John’s soldiers, but all continued to be calm. In return for Sam and Tildy’s hospitality, Baron took care of the teenage thieves from Sam’s fields, posing as one of the sheriff’s men and chasing them off, saying that if they ever came back he would arrest them for stealing. We all watched with delight as the massive figure of Baron thundered after the thin, gangly teenagers, who all yelled and dashed for home, never to return.
Most of the men healed quickly. They were used to frequent injuries and, despite getting on in years now, they were still fit and healthy. Father, who had been beaten most frequently in jail and still nursed broken ribs, healed the slowest, but he was still as quick with a joke as ever. The whip marks carved across Baron’s back had dulled to faint white lines and my own injuries had faded and healed.
After Father’s speech thanking Baron and upon learning what an excellent cook he was, all the men had finally acceptedhim to some degree. At mealtimes, we all swapped stories and laughed together. The men said that Baron’s heroics in helping me escape from the sheriff’s camp, and then in helping the men to escape from prison, had earned him his spurs. They held a mock knighting ceremony, with Little John officiating and using a broom handle to tap Baron’s shoulders.
At first, Baron looked almost startled whenever someone clapped him on the back or pulled him into a joke. He often laughed a second too late, as if trying to make sure it was safe to join in. Compliments left him blinking in quiet confusion and offers of help made him search for the catch. Sometimes he’d sit among us with his hands folded too neatly, posture too rigid, watching the others with a guarded curiosity—as though joy were a language he understood only in pieces. Bit by bit, though, I saw the tension ease from his shoulders.
“So, what do you think of everyone?” I asked him as we went to collect eggs one morning.
It was early spring, the kind of morning where the world seemed to breathe again. Buds pushed up from bare branches, and the first wildflowers stretched toward the sky. Even the air felt hopeful, nothing like the frozen dread I’d lived in during my months of imprisonment.
“It’s a big change,” Baron admitted, nudging a particularly plump hen aside to steal the eggs beneath her. She pecked his knuckle in protest. “I don’t remember ever being this…” He trailed off, as though the word itself was too foreign to name.
“Happy?” I offered, closing the lid over the eggs.
Baron looked at me, and something unguarded flickered across his face. “Yeah, happy. That’s not a word many of the sheriff’s men were familiar with. They wouldn’t be confused for Merry Men, that’s for sure.”
I poked him playfully as I stepped out of the henhouse. “Get used to it. At this rate, they’ll induct you soon. You’re one of us now.”
Baron ducked to follow me out and promptly got himself wedged in the doorframe. “Ahhh, I’m too big for this!”
I laughed, setting the basket down to tug on his arm. Once he was free, I turned my face toward the sunlight. Warmth spilled over me, soft and golden and I soaked it in.
Father was almost fully healed and we would soon return home. Home—Sherwood Forest. Even thinking of it filled me with an aching kind of joy. When I glanced back, Baron was watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“I just like seeing you happy,” he said softly. “It didn’t happen much when I first met you.”
“I wonder why.” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “It’s not like I was your prisoner or anything. Forced to snuggle up with my enemy every night just to stay warm.”
“Oh? Are we still enemies?”
I grinned at our old joke. “Not anymore.”
Baron shook his head, his smile turning rueful. “Sometimes I wondered if you came close to me those nights just to torment me. I thought that you must be getting some sadistic pleasure out of knowing how much you were tempting me and were punishing me for holding you hostage. I was so sure you were planning to draw me in, just like you did with Sneeds. That was why, that day in the snow, I forced myself to hold back. It’s been slow torture for me all this time. I hope you know that.”
“I was never leading you on,” I whispered. “I thoughtyouwere the one trying to trick me. But the feelings were there for me too.” Then, boldly, I added, “They still are.”
