bows, not speaking as their leader joined them.
“Anything?” Robin asked. The high road to Nottingham curved near Sherwood at that point. As far as Rook could understand from what little Robin Hood had said, Rowan had been taken by a patrol on sortie to the north as she searched for herbs on the meadows at the forest’s edge. The patrol would pass here as they returned, triumphant, with their captive.
“Soon. I hope.” Little John’s voice sounded so level and quiet that Rook started to shake. “But nothing yet. Only what yon foreigner said.” He pointed with his bearded chin.
At first Rook thought he saw a slim, pale boy standing in the shadow—but no. It was Beau. He hadn’t recognized her without her smile.
“What I said was the truth.” Trembling, her voice betrayed the slight accent of a Wanderer, an outcast without a country. “The Sheriff’s men surrounded us. They knew who she was; they called her Rowan Hood. They taunted her that they would take her alive to make best use of her.”
A year ago Rowan would have passed as just another cowherd’s daughter or goose girl, but now … too much had happened. The man trap. Her legs, hurt so she couldn’t run and dodge as she used to. The bounty hunters, finding out who she was. And now, by the looks of things, somehow Nottingham had heard as well.
Rowan, captured … Rook shook his head, trying to shake his hurtful thoughts away. He felt he was to blame. Because she’d been gathering herbs on account of him. Because, on account of him and Runkling, Tykell had not been there to guard her or protect her.
Beau kept talking as if she could not help it, as if she had to keep telling and telling what had happened. “I—I couldn’t move, but Rowan got her bow strung. She sent elf-bolts into …” Beau swallowed hard atthe memory. “Into three of them. They fell, and she shouted at me to run. She … she commanded me.”
Robin Hood nodded, but his blue eyes looked faraway gray. He set Tod on his feet. On his one good foot, rather.
Beau whispered, “There was nothing else I could do.”
“I know, lass,” Robin said quietly. No one else answered her. Rook tried to give her a look and a nod, but he couldn’t. Terror for Rowan crouched like a hooded hawk in his belly, its knife-sharp claws gripping his innards.
Clutching at a tree for support, Tod gazed up at Robin, then turned to Rook with eyes like those of a hunted deer. After a moment Rook felt the crutch still in his grasp and handed it to the boy.
“Where’s Lionel?” asked Robin hoarsely. “Just when we need his strength the most …”
“Hsst,” breathed Little John. “Hearken. Look.”
Every outlaw froze, peering. Rook could see it too, a puff of dust in the distance, growing nearer. Then he heard the trampling of horses, and the harsh voices of the men-at-arms. And amid the dust he saw glints of bronze. Brazen helms. And the Sheriff’s ornate breastplate. On a heavy-headed charger, Nottingham rode in the fore.
Then Rook saw Rowan, and his stomach clenched like a fist. They rode horseback, but they made her go afoot, tethered by a rope long enough to put her behind their horses’ tails, in the thick of their dust. Trotting to keep up, she panted, coughing, sweat streaking the dirt on her face. Blood stained her mouth. They had struck her. Rook felt as if he had himself been struck. But what hurt his heart was the way she held her head high even as she struggled along. Chin up, defiant, she looked like a true outlaw. Like her father.
“Lady have mercy,” he breathed. Would they hang her? Tod might expect to be beaten when he returned home, but what would they do to Rowan?
“Lad?” Robin looked down at Tod.
Staring at Rowan, the boy swallowed hard, then nodded and crutched forward. Weaponless, Robin walked with him. Rook stood with the others, his dagger lifted in his trembling hand; it was his only weapon. He’d been too much a lone wolf to learn to shoot the bow like the
“Anything?” Robin asked. The high road to Nottingham curved near Sherwood at that point. As far as Rook could understand from what little Robin Hood had said, Rowan had been taken by a patrol on sortie to the north as she searched for herbs on the meadows at the forest’s edge. The patrol would pass here as they returned, triumphant, with their captive.
“Soon. I hope.” Little John’s voice sounded so level and quiet that Rook started to shake. “But nothing yet. Only what yon foreigner said.” He pointed with his bearded chin.
At first Rook thought he saw a slim, pale boy standing in the shadow—but no. It was Beau. He hadn’t recognized her without her smile.
“What I said was the truth.” Trembling, her voice betrayed the slight accent of a Wanderer, an outcast without a country. “The Sheriff’s men surrounded us. They knew who she was; they called her Rowan Hood. They taunted her that they would take her alive to make best use of her.”
A year ago Rowan would have passed as just another cowherd’s daughter or goose girl, but now … too much had happened. The man trap. Her legs, hurt so she couldn’t run and dodge as she used to. The bounty hunters, finding out who she was. And now, by the looks of things, somehow Nottingham had heard as well.
Rowan, captured … Rook shook his head, trying to shake his hurtful thoughts away. He felt he was to blame. Because she’d been gathering herbs on account of him. Because, on account of him and Runkling, Tykell had not been there to guard her or protect her.
Beau kept talking as if she could not help it, as if she had to keep telling and telling what had happened. “I—I couldn’t move, but Rowan got her bow strung. She sent elf-bolts into …” Beau swallowed hard atthe memory. “Into three of them. They fell, and she shouted at me to run. She … she commanded me.”
Robin Hood nodded, but his blue eyes looked faraway gray. He set Tod on his feet. On his one good foot, rather.
Beau whispered, “There was nothing else I could do.”
“I know, lass,” Robin said quietly. No one else answered her. Rook tried to give her a look and a nod, but he couldn’t. Terror for Rowan crouched like a hooded hawk in his belly, its knife-sharp claws gripping his innards.
Clutching at a tree for support, Tod gazed up at Robin, then turned to Rook with eyes like those of a hunted deer. After a moment Rook felt the crutch still in his grasp and handed it to the boy.
“Where’s Lionel?” asked Robin hoarsely. “Just when we need his strength the most …”
“Hsst,” breathed Little John. “Hearken. Look.”
Every outlaw froze, peering. Rook could see it too, a puff of dust in the distance, growing nearer. Then he heard the trampling of horses, and the harsh voices of the men-at-arms. And amid the dust he saw glints of bronze. Brazen helms. And the Sheriff’s ornate breastplate. On a heavy-headed charger, Nottingham rode in the fore.
Then Rook saw Rowan, and his stomach clenched like a fist. They rode horseback, but they made her go afoot, tethered by a rope long enough to put her behind their horses’ tails, in the thick of their dust. Trotting to keep up, she panted, coughing, sweat streaking the dirt on her face. Blood stained her mouth. They had struck her. Rook felt as if he had himself been struck. But what hurt his heart was the way she held her head high even as she struggled along. Chin up, defiant, she looked like a true outlaw. Like her father.
“Lady have mercy,” he breathed. Would they hang her? Tod might expect to be beaten when he returned home, but what would they do to Rowan?
“Lad?” Robin looked down at Tod.
Staring at Rowan, the boy swallowed hard, then nodded and crutched forward. Weaponless, Robin walked with him. Rook stood with the others, his dagger lifted in his trembling hand; it was his only weapon. He’d been too much a lone wolf to learn to shoot the bow like the
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