“No.” The word came out flat. It was impossible. “No, that’s not right. Can’t you do something?”
“I can give her something for the pain to keep her comfortable toward the end,” Sybil said quietly. “But that’s all I know how to do.”
“Well, who does know how to help her?” My voice rose before I could stop it. Sybil flinched and retreated half a step. I realized I had moved closer and was towering over her. I forced myself to stop. I really needed to stop intimidating people.
“Maybe the village physician,” Sybil said. “Maybe. But he refuses to treat people from Sherwood Forest. I doubt he would even see her.”
“So you’re just giving up?” I asked. Rage surged through me, hot and desperate. “You are not even going to try?”
Sybil’s neck tensed. The moment I said it, I knew it was unfair. She had likely done everything she could. But Laurel was inside that hut, dying, and this woman seemed far too ready to accept it.
“Maybe none of the rest of you care enough to keep fighting,” I said, “but I do.”
I pushed open the hut door and found Laurel on the ground.
For one awful second, I couldn’t move. She was curled beside the straw tick, blankets twisted around her legs, one hand limp against the packed dirt floor. Her face was puffy and red, and tear tracks marked her cheeks.
I hurried to her side and lifted her gently back onto the lumpy bed. Her head lolled against my arm, and I cradled her as carefully as I could, afraid that one wrong movement would hurt her even worse.
Her eyes fluttered open. When she saw me, she let out a shaky breath. “I’m dying,” she whispered.
“No.” I laid her down and tucked the blanket around her. “I won’t let that happen.”
Her eyes were glassy with fever. “Sybil said…”
“Sybil isn’t the only person all of in England who’s medical opinion counts.” My voice sounded forceful. “I’m taking you to the village physician. He’s going to treat you.”
“He doesn’t like me,” Laurel murmured. “He won’t help.”
“Let him try to tell me no. I’ll take you to Prince John’s personal physician if I have to. I won’t let you die.
Her chin trembled as she whispered, “Thank you.”
I moved at once.
I hurriedly collected what we would need for the journey, got directions to the village, and bullied Sybil into giving me medicine for Laurel. Several people tried to talk me out of the plan. Sybil warned me that moving Laurel might hasten her death. Little John told me I needed to accept what couldn’tbe changed. Peter told me he wouldn’t allow me to move his patient. The last person to approach me was James. When I saw him coming, I prepared a cutting remark about how I didn’t need one more person telling me I was wrong, but James didn’t try to stop me.
He simply handed me a leather pouch of coins. “Good luck, Baron,” he said. I looked down at the pouch, then back at him. “I would’ve done the same thing if it could have saved my wife,” he said, then vanished as quickly as he had come.
For a moment, I could not speak. Then I tucked the pouch away and went back for Laurel.
Transporting her in her weakened condition was difficult. James had brought her in on a cart, but it had since been disassembled for repairs. Laurel could not sit a horse. She was too weak, too feverish, and barely conscious.
So I carried her. I set out in the afternoon and walked late into the night. It took longer than I expected, burdened as I was with our supplies and Laurel, and as much as I wished I could run, I couldn’t move quickly. Every stumble and uneven patch of ground, every adjustment of my grip made Laurel moan in pain, and each sound cut through me as if I was the one experiencing the pain.
Laurel drifted in and out of consciousness against my chest. Sometimes she muttered things I couldn’t understand. Sometimes she shivered despite the warmth of the night. Once, she whispered my name.
“I’m here,” I told her. “I’ve got you.”
By the time I reached the village, the sun was already rising toward midmorning, and my arms and back burned with exhaustion. I pounded on the first door I came to. A woman opened it, took one look at me holding Laurel, and went pale.
“I need the doctor,” I said.
She pointed me toward one of the larger buildings, and I walked there as quickly as I could. When I reached the door, I kicked it to avoid adjusting Laurel’s position again.
A plump man with greying hair sprouting in a half circle around the back of his head answered quickly. His gaze dropped to Laurel, and recognition flashed across his face then his expression hardened.
“I don’t serve members of the Merry Men,” he said haughtily, and began to close the door.
