Squeezed into every corner of the paper were tiny double cursive Ls, looped so neatly that anyone else would mistake them for ornamental flourishes. I knew better. Her signature was her little boast to make certain I knew exactly who had taken my horse while leaving everyone else to blame Robin Hood. Only Laurel would have the audacity to steal the Sheriff of Nottingham’s horse from Prince John’s own stables.
She was gone, then, off for a up to a week of tournament games back in Sherwood Forest. Off to compete, laugh, flirt, and enjoy herself among people who didn’t have to explain away their pasts. She was off while I remained here, buried in reports, soldiers, taxes, and the miserable work of earning Prince John’s trust.
The soldier stood behind me, watching anxiously. If my father had found his horse stolen from the royal stables with a taunting note from Robin Hood left behind, he would have flown into a rage loud enough to frighten every groom in Nottingham.
The soldier expected me to do the same. “What does it say, Sheriff?” he asked.
I read the note aloud, keeping my voice cold and hard. When I finished, I crushed the parchment in my fist and turned on him. “Search the grounds immediately. If Robin Hood is here, I demand that he be brought to me alive.”
He scampered off at once, shouting orders before he had even reached the stable door, likely glad that he hadn’t received worse for delivering the bad news.
I waited until his footsteps faded, then slowly opened the note again.
The paper was wrinkled now, but Laurel’s handwriting still stared back at me. It was bold and clean, and I could picture her perfectly, head bent over the paper and mouth curved in that infuriating smirk.
I should’ve been angry.
I was angry, in a way. My horse was gone and Conrad was a fool. My soldiers would waste half the day searching the grounds for an outlaw who wasn’t there. And Laurel, despite ending things with me, still had the nerve to reach into my life and give another painful reminder that she was free of me.
Saints, I missed her.
I folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into my pocket. If anyone asked, I could say I was keeping it as evidence, but I knew that I kept it because it was hers.
LAUREL
Agloomy haze seemed to linger over the forest so it didn’t feel quite as cheerful as I remembered. Everyone greeted me when I arrived, calling my name from beside cookfires, practice fields, and the paths between cottages. I bobbed my head and waved in acknowledgement, but my heart wasn’t in it. I’d told myself that returning to Sherwood Forest, even briefly, would make everything feel right again. This was home. The prospect of a weekend filled with celebration, contests, and laughter ought to have cheered me up at once.
It didn’t.
Everything looked muted. A gray mist hung beneath the branches of the treetop canopy and drifted all the way to the ground. The leaves seemed duller than usual, the paths quieter, the familiar cottages appeared less welcoming than they should’ve been. This was the same forest I knew and loved, but somehow it felt as though the color had been washed out of it while I was gone.
Or perhaps that was only me.
“Nice horse,” Peter called out.
I turned to see Little John’s son crossing toward me with his easy, familiar stride. He was taller than I remembered, though perhaps everyone seemed taller now that I was so thoroughly exhausted by castle corridors and servant work.
“Thanks.” I swung down from the saddle and tossed him the reins. “It belongs to an old boyfriend. Take care of his pony for me, would you? I have to return him later.”
“Old boyfriend?” Peter asked curiously.
I turned and walked away before he could ask anything more. “Just take care of the horse.”
I did not want to discuss Baron. Not with Peter. Not with anyone.
Little John had donehis best to host a fun tournament, and I was determined to enjoy it. At first, that determination required more effort than I expected. With more than half of the Merry Men missing and after the grandeur of the tournament held in honor of the new Sheriff of Nottingham, this one seemed a little lackluster. The decorations were far simpler, the crowd much smaller, and the cheers not nearly as loud. I hated that I noticed. I hated even more that the comparison brought Baron to mind when I had sworn a thousand times over that I was done thinking about him.
Most of the usual events ended almost immediately after beginning. Without the strongest contenders present, Little John dominated most events, I easily won the knife-throwing contest, and Lincoln’s son Louis, who had inherited his father’s agility, won all the footraces without any trouble at all. I’d alwaysreveled in the vicious satisfaction that came from a win, but even victory felt a little hollow when it came too easily.
But after two days, the celebration began to improve my mood. Or perhaps I became better at forcing myself to enjoy it. The sun finally broke through the mist, brightening the green of the leaves and warming the damp ground beneath our feet. Children ran between the trees with ribbons tied around their wrists. Women laid out food on long tables. Men who had been gone on shorter missions returned in time to join in some of the later games. Slowly, the forest began to sound like home again.
I relished the competitions, the more difficult, the better. I’d always loved a good challenge, and a demanding challenge was exactly what I needed. Anything that forced my mind onto strategy, movement, and winning was far preferable to thinking about my father’s absence, or anything else.
During the wrestling matches, everyone was paired off, and the winners moved to the next round. I did very well for most of my matches. I was paired against several of the youth in Sherwood Forest and made quick work of all of them. They wrestled each other often enough, but they still hesitated when facing a girl. I held no such reservations, and within seconds, I had them pinned in the dirt while the younger children cheered.
Only the initiated members of the Merry Men gave me real competition. They never held back and had no qualms about knocking me flat if I deserved it. Eventually, I was paired against Lincoln.
He wasn’t nearly as large as Little John or Baron, so I had a chance of defeating him, and in terms of skill, we were fairly evenly matched. But Lincoln’s long arms and legs gave him a clear advantage. His reach was far greater than mine, and he knew exactly how to use it.
