Half an hour later, my feet were numb blocks of ice. I climbed back onto solid ground, breathing hard, pulled off my soakedboots, and slung them across my shoulder. My leggings clung up to my thighs, wet and freezing, and my teeth chattered.
Autumn was sinking deeper every day. And night—my greatest ally—was falling fast.
I turned north. The mountains rose faintly in the distance, familiar shapes but still far off. I didn’t know exactly how long I’d been unconscious before waking in the sheriff’s camp. Hours? A day?
I drew a slow breath, bracing myself.
It would be a long walk home, but I was free, and that was enough.
CHAPTER 8
Iwalked through the night, continuing on even when my legs shook and my eyes burned from exhaustion. Two nights with no real sleep had left me utterly spent. More than anything, I wanted food and a few hours of uninterrupted rest. While I walked, I picked at the scanty options that the woods had to offer—a handful of hard nuts and a few overly-tart berries—and missed Dale’s cooking more than ever. And as relieved as I was to be free again, I was terrified to sleep. What if they found me while I was resting and completely vulnerable?
When my eyelids began to droop even while I walked, I found a shallow ditch beneath a massive tree and eased myself down among the roots and brambles. I scraped together a bed of dry leaves and twigs, partially for the meager insulation they provided and partially for camouflage, and let out a sigh. The rustle of the leaves and the scurrying of forest life seemed much louder than it ever had in Sherwood Forest.I’m safe, I told myself over and over. No one would be able to track me and I’d made it far enough to have earned rest.
I slept most of the day, waking only when a deer moved through the underbrush nearby. Its soft hooves jerked meawake, which caused the deer to bound away, and I was so tired that I managed to fall back asleep. When I finally rose for good, it was nearly dusk. I worked the leaves and twigs from my hair, braided it back out of my face, and shook out my limbs to dispel the cold chill settling on my bones.
My stomach gave an impatient snarl and I watched the carefree squirrels scamper overhead with envious eyes. I might be able to fashion a sling but until I was much farther away, I couldn’t risk a fire and having the smoke attract the sheriff’s men. So I ate what few berries and nuts I could and trudged on. I consoled myself by imagining my triumphant return to Father and his Merry Men. We would feast and laugh about the sheriff and his dim-witted henchmen. I would finally have my own story to add to the mix of the tales I’d heard a hundred times over. I could just picture Father’s face—he would be simultaneously horrified and proud.
At least while I’d slept, my water-logged boots had finally dried, and I gratefully pulled them back on.
The sun was just starting to sink when I came upon the lonely road leading back to town, and I scowled at it. Nothing would ever convince me to go back there, where I’d been captured in broad daylight.
I turned my feet north instead so I had to trek through more forest. At least there were a few animal trails running alongside the stream, and I followed those. Animals were much more trustworthy; they wouldn’t sell information about girls to whoever had the deepest pockets.
To entertain myself while I walked, I practiced throwing the knife I’d taken from Dorian. It wasn’t nearly as well-balanced as my own had been, but it never failed to bring a smile to my lips when the knife thudded home with a satisfyingthwackagainst a tree trunk.
The sun’s last dying rays threw their feeble light skyward when I stepped into a meadow and I allowed myself a few moments of watching the blood-red sun dip behind the mountains and fade from sight.
Darkness fell in earnest after that. I made my way across the meadow, grateful that it was grass instead of thorns brushing my leggings at ankle height. Trees ringed the clearing, and though I knew many boasted the beautiful autumn colors, night was hiding them too well for me to appreciate.
As I neared the far side, I froze as something large moved directly ahead of me. Was it a person or an animal? I slowly lowered myself to crouch in the grass, eyes riveted on the spot where I was sure I had seen something, and gripped my knife. I nearly leapt out of my skin when it moved again, but the tension drained away almost instantly. It was just an animal. I momentarily thought it was another deer, but it was too large. A horse’s soft muzzle poked out from between the tree trunks, its ears pricked forward.
There was no saddle or tack. It was just a mare, that was all. Finally, a stroke of good fortune. If she was friendly, I might not have to walk all the way back to Sherwood.
“Hello,” I said quietly, carefully sheathing my knife and stretching out my hand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” The mare’s ears twitched and she picked her way toward me, nosing at the air between us. “We can be friends,” I went on hopefully. “Come here, girl.”
Up close I saw that her coat was groomed and her mane was trimmed. This was no wild animal. She belonged to someone.
Someone negligent, if they let their livestock wander off, untended. “Someone might steal you,” I told the mare, a devious smile curling my lips. “There’s outlaws around, you know.”
She nosed at my hand, the soft muzzle tickling my fingers as she searched for sugar cubes. I stroked her neck, wonderinghow I could cobble together makeshift reins, when the hair at the base of my neck stood on end and some wrongness I couldn’t describe prickled my skin. Before I turned around, an arm wrapped around me from behind and a blade pressed at my throat.
“Don’t move," a male voice hissed in my ear, cool and controlled.
I froze, hands still outstretched toward the mare.
“Good,” the man breathed, keeping the blade pressed against my windpipe with one hand while his other reached for my wrist. Just as his fingers grazed my wrist, the knife at my throat eased off the tiniest amount, and that was all the opening I needed.
I struck.
I sank my teeth into his hand gripping the knife, hard enough to taste blood. The man grunted and reflexively let go, the blade slipping from his fingers. I immediately latched onto his right arm, hauling it forward while I bent low, my shoulder driving into the soft flesh beneath his ribs so the man was half-pulled over me.
I planted my feet and straightened sharply while I put all my strength into lifting the man clean off his feet and jerking his arm forcefully toward the ground, using his own body weight against him as I catapulted him over my head to land with an almighty crash that shook the forest floor. I dropped my knee toward his throat, but he jerked his hooded head aside at the last second. My knee connected with the side of his face instead with a solid crack. He choked on air, scrambling for breath.
I tore away, sprinting as fast as I could, while the woods whipped past in streaks of shadow. My pulse thundered in my ears and my lungs burned. I reached for Dorian’s dagger at my belt, heart hammering. At least I wasn’t helpless this time.
Soon, the thudding rhythm of steady hoofbeats came up behind me. I dodged into thicker brush, hoping to lose them,but all I managed to do was slow myself down as well. The rider overtook me, cutting me off in a spray of dirt, and I switched direction, running back toward the clearing.
