“No good, it will need to be done again,” Walter said flatly.
My mouth fell open in horror, but then I saw his mustache twitch ever so slightly. “You’re awful,” I told him. “I almost believed you for a minute.”
“A maid who appreciates jokes?” Walter beamed. “How refreshing!”
I liked him immediately. His eyes had a permanent twinkle in them, as if life was one grand joke, and he couldn’t wait to see how everything played out. “And a manservant who isn’t condescending, I’m impressed.” I told him.
He waved one of his gloved hands. “I’m the one who’s impressed. Agnes may not believe that you did this alone. I can help you take credit.”
I poked him in the chest. “Over my dead body. You didn’t scrub those filthy walls; I did, and I’m taking all the credit!”
He grinned mischievously. “Alright, alright, you win, but just this once.” Walter held open the door for me, and I followed him back to the main hall.
Every inch of my body ached, and just like Aalis, Walter proved to be an easy-going companion who didn’t care if I was talkative or not. He filled the silence with chatter about his past. He said he’d been raised in London, then joined Prince John’s army for ten years, and became a manservant at Nottingham Castle when he was done with military life.
He reminded me strongly of Will Scarlet—quick-witted, fatherly, and easy to talk to. He took me back to the servants’ quarters, where all the other girls had already come back and were talking and laughing together. Aalis waved me over.
“Looks like you’re fitting right in,” Walter said with a grin. “Glad to have you here, Isabella.”
I smiled. Everything was going exactly as planned.
BARON
My horse’s hooves clattered against the drawbridge as we crossed, the sound echoing loudly in the early morning air. Rufus and Bart rode at my flanks with their backs straight and chests puffed with inflated self-importance. If Laurel had managed to slip into the castle unnoticed and secure work, as I prayed she had, there was a very real chance we might pass her in a corridor or courtyard, which is why I hadn’t been willing to risk bringing Sebastian or Dominic. Either might have recognized her. Rufus and Bart, at least, had never met Laurel and believed that Robin Hood’s daughter was dead.
As we entered the courtyard, I forced my gaze forward, or at least I tried to. Any hint of red hair irresistibly drew my gaze and set my heart to pounding twice as fast as normal. I scanned every face in spite of firmly instructing myself not to, searching for Laurel, but all I found were downturned heads, hurried steps, and identical uniforms. It would have been nearly impossible to pick Laurel out even if she were standing ten paces away.
Servants parted before us as we rode through, eyes lowered, and their bodies cringing away as if we carried some contagious disease. We halted in the center of the courtyard wheregardeners were hacking away at the charred remains of a dead tree, its blackened trunk ugly and split wide. A young sapling waited off to the side, roots wrapped and ready to replace the burned one.
My mouth curved faintly upward before I could stop it.
Laurel had burned that tree to the ground the night we freed her father. Normally, her impulsivity worried me, but that night, her rash actions had likely saved us all. I only hoped she didn’t have any other grandiose ideas like that while working undercover.
The captain of the guard greeted us with crisp efficiency. Once I gave my name and stated my new position, his expression shifted to recognition, followed quickly by deference. He snapped to attention, bowed, and ushered us inside, where a messenger hurried off to announce our arrival to Prince John.
Wine and food were offered, which Rufus and Bart eagerly accepted and I declined.
It felt like an age before we were able to see Prince John. I paced back and forth, hands clasped behind my back, and paused at the window with each pass to scan the crowd of servants in the courtyard below until a messenger finally announced that they were ready to receive us.
We passed through a winding labyrinth of corridors and staircases, climbing higher until we reached the royal quarters where two guards flanked the doors, halberds crossed. They stepped aside at once and pulled open the heavy doors as we approached.
Prince John rose when I entered. “Come in, come in!”
He gestured toward a plain wooden chair set before his desk while lowering himself into an ornate throne cushioned in red velvet.
Rufus and Bart stood at attention as I slowly lowered myself into the seat. Prince John was smaller than I remembered andhad a rather unimpressive build. His feet barely reached the floor so I was reminded forcibly of a child swinging his feet while sitting in his father’s chair. He had a pale, pasty complexion and round, barrel chest that left no doubt that he had never seen battle himself. I knew enough about him to know that he was often considered to be polite and kind, bordering on friendly, but then would flip without a moment’s notice and lash out in violent, unpredictable outbursts.
“What happened to Blackwell?” he asked. “You’re his son, aren’t you? Baron, if I recall.”
I inclined my head. “Correct. Robin Hood’s daughter killed my father, sire. I was there.”
“But she didn’t kill you?”
“That’s right.”
“What happened?”
“I killed and buried her myself, along with several of Robin Hood’s men. The bodies of my father’s soldiers were returned to their families and any survivors came back with me to the Cresswell Crags to await your orders.” It was almost unnerving to hear how easy it was to bend the truth. It was exactly what Prince John would want to hear.
