The answer came too quickly.
Yes, they could. I was doing it right now.
Every day, I became Isabella. I lowered my gaze, curtsied, scrubbed floors, lied to everyone, and carried wine and crumpets to a man I despised with a smile on my face. I made people believe I was harmless and simply eager to earn a few coins because I needed them to believe it.
What if Baron had done the same thing?
Each day as the new Sheriff, he dealt out punishments, often harshly. Was that the act, or was it what he was putting on for me and James and the rest of the Merry Men?
What if, all this time, while I thought he had chosen our side, he was passing information back? What if every smile, every careful touch, every quiet moment in the forest had been part of a performance better than mine?
I wanted to scream with frustration. What was real and what wasn’t?
All the time I had been held prisoner, Baron had never mistreated me. Since my escape, he had protected me. He had lied for me, fought for me, risked discovery for me. Here at the castle, he had never betrayed me. He had swallowed a secret message because I told him to. He had put me in the pillory only because I asked him to. He had held me afterward as though the sight of me hurting had hurt him too.
He couldn’t be the man Walter described. He just couldn’t be.
And even if everything Water said was true, Baron had changed. He had forsaken his previous life to be with me and to join the Merry Men. He wanted to become something better than his father had taught him to be.
Could anyone really change that much in such a short time?
Could Baron truly switch his loyalties, his habits, and his inclinations to become the complete opposite of what he had been raised to be? I tried to imagine myself in his position,choosing to alter myself so completely. I doubted it would ever last. People could pretend for a time, but eventually, pressure revealed what was underneath.
How long would it be until Baron relapsed into his old ways?
Walter continued talking, and I became only vaguely aware of nodding and agreeing with whatever he said. My mind had become consumed by the sudden, repulsive image of Baron’s face twisting into the same awful smile his father had worn.
Could I ever stay with someone who had intentionally hurt people like Walter?
Another memory surfaced, one I had not thought of in some time. After Baron and I had survived being pushed off the cliff, he had nearly whipped the man responsible. At the last moment, Baron had decided not to, claiming that doing so might kill him and that he wanted the man alive to suffer.
Had that been restraint, or was it cruelty of another kind? How had I explained it away so easily? How had I looked at a man raised by the Sheriff of Nottingham and convinced myself that love alone could erase everything he was?
Baron had once told me that he was a monster.
A chill ran through me.
What if he had been right?
“Izzy? Isabella?”
Walter’s hand touched my shoulder and shook me gently. I blinked hard and looked up at him. His face was creased with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, sorry.” I forced a fatigued smile, though my mouth felt stiff. “I’m just tired. Cleaning all day, you know.”
“Best get some rest, then,” Walter said kindly. “That morning bell comes early. But just think, it isn’t long until Festival Week. You can have some fun and catch up on sleep then.”
He clapped his undamaged hand on my shoulder, gave me a tiny, reassuring squeeze, and left. I slowly walked back tothe servants’ quarters, every step feeling heavier than the last. Around me, the castle continued as it always did. Nothing had changed for anyone but me.
I reached my straw tick, lay down, and stared into the darkness long after the other girls fell asleep around me. I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t be able to rest until I got some answers.
I had to know the truth.
BARON
Isighed and ran one hand over the back of my neck as I walked down the hall. The day felt as though it would have no end. I’d spent hours reviewing the troops’ drills, and they were still far from adequate. More than a dozen quarrels had broken out among the soldiers, most of them over matters so petty I could hardly believe grown men were willing to waste breath on them. I still had to meet with the captains that night, attend to the lengthy reports handed in that day, write up a summary of those reports for Prince John, and then slip into the forest at midnight to meet James.
I ran my hand through my hair and blew out a long breath. I’d never admired my father before, but I was beginning to understand the sheer weight of what he had managed. The workload alone was immense, even without the constant danger of double-agent work added on top of it. Of course, my father had carried it by becoming crueler, harder, and more distant with every passing year. That was not the sort of strength I wanted. Still, as my head throbbed and my shoulders ached from the day’s burdens, I understood a little better how easy it would be to let the work strip away every softer part of a man.
