“Success!” she whispered to the dark shapes of Ian and Lane hiding in the shadows.
Ian stepped forward, taking the bundle of clothing from her. “Still damp,” he whispered back.
Robin stretched her arm, which had grown stiff from carrying the heavy weight. “Put a furnace in your laundry, then,” she whispered.
“Or defeat the chaos magic user who has been causing all the storms, so we do not need to dry our laundry inside anymore,” Ian replied. He handed one of the tunics to Lane and one of them back to Robin.
After removing the belt that held her daggers, Robin slipped the tunic over her head. She arranged the extra fabric around her waist and replaced the belt, then pulled at the laces in the collar to tighten it across her chest before tying it in place.
She reached around her head to tuck her braid down the back of the tunic, but it was a difficult maneuver to manage with only one hand.
“My braid,” she whispered, turning her back to Ian, but he was already reaching out to finish the task for her. His hands lingered at her neck, and Robin felt her heart pounding in her chest. They were ready to start the most dangerous raid she had ever attempted.
“Your helmet,” Lane said, holding out one of the simple metal helmets that he and Ian had procured.
Robin attempted to slide the metal hat over her head. “It does not fit,” she whispered.
The warmth of Ian’s hand left her back, and she felt him gently pressing down on the helmet.
“You can wear it loose,” Lane whispered, “and just remove it before any real fighting happens so it does not distract you.”
“It is too small,” Robin hissed, “not too large.”
“Oh,” Lane replied. “Try this one, then.”
“Your head grew too big,” Ian whispered from behind her as he lifted the helmet. “Which would explain why you always have such good ideas.”
Robin grinned as she tried on the next helmet. “This one fits.” Stepping back, she repositioned her body so that the three of them were facing each other. “Are we ready?”
“We are ready,” Lane echoed.
Ian strapped a borrowed sword to his waist. “Lane is going to station himself at the corner bench near the kitchen door so he can see both the gate and the barracks.”
“One dove coo if someone is coming from the gate,” Robin said, repeating the signal they had agreed upon earlier. “And two if it’s from the barracks.”
“What if they come from both?” Lane asked. Robin smirked in the darkness. Lane was likely making a jest, but she could not always tell.
“Three coos,” Ian responded before Robin could.
“Three coos,” Lane repeated. “Understood.”
They stood for one moment longer, staring at each other, waiting for her to make the first move.
“Try not to get killed,” Lane said, breaking the silence.
“Excellent advice,” Robin replied.
With a calming breath, she turned and stepped into the open walkway. But instead of leading the way to the castle gate, she moved to the side, gesturing for Ian to take the lead. He had a better understanding of the guard rotations and how his men moved in formation. They were literally about to walk into the center of an armed fortress—his armed fortress—so she was more than happy to follow his lead.
Stepping in front of her, Ian instantly relaxed into the stiff step of his natural gait. Here, that confident, measured stride was expected.
Robin watched the confident way he moved through the space and adopted his pace. But she kept her chin low so that the shadow of her helmet covered her eyes.
Just after the door to the kitchen, Ian stopped, nodding to a stone bench on the opposite side of the path.
Lane sauntered to the bench and lifted one leg on top of it. He peered around the corner of the keep, pretending to be mildly engrossed in the activity near the gate.
Ian kept moving, not sparing him a second glance.
