cabin and on to Nottingham, unless you’d rather spend more time in these woods you find detestable.”
His answering silence provided no clues to his thoughts. The long pause brought her attention back to the flames. Having incinerated everything within easy reach, the dearth of nearby leaves left her restless fingers without a diversion. She fished a piece of dried venison from her alms-bag and picked at its stringy grain. For each piece she ate, she tossed another into the fire.
“Fine. Jacob can come.”
She stood and stretched. “Will Scarlet makes a decision, and all without sainted Uncle Robin Hood.”
Scarlet followed. She checked the need to step away from the ripple of frustration radiating from the red center of his bones. “False gems be damned, I’m ready to risk the consequences to see you fail,” he said.
Irritation spoiled his speech, leaving her to wonder again at his strife with Robin Hood.
She smiled. “Go ahead and leave for Nottingham, if you wish.”
“And where will you be?”
She gripped his forearms, nearly standing on tiptoe to find the privacy of his ear. “I’ll be here. In the forest. With two dozen peasants who believe me a witch. And Hugo as their leader.”
He laced his fingers through the hair at the base of her neck, clutching, pulling her close. Quick breaths fanned across her forehead and nose. “You’re using last night’s bit of chivalry against me.”
“And your conscience, Scarlet. Don’t forget that. It really does work contrary to your ambitions.” She gave the muscled ropes of his forearms an appreciative squeeze. She exhaled, something too near a sigh. “Lovely.”
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“You say what you must to get what you want.”
He released her, like flinging a dangerous animal into the brush. Oh, but she could come to enjoy his lack of control.
“You believe my appreciation for your physique might be such a deception?”
“Is my conclusion absurd?”
She laughed. “If I can navigate a situation without the need for lies, I make do with the truth. No sense muddying clear waters.”
“Witch,” he said. “I can think of another word for you.”
“One lacking in originality, I’d wager.”
Hugo would have hit her, had she dared speak to him that way. Scarlet, however—she could almost hear him gnashing his teeth. She pushed, she pushed again, and still he refrained from violence. But the careening sensations he nurtured in her blood terrified her in new and unpredictable ways, tempting her to take ever-greater chances.
The Devil’s own offer, indeed.
Asem’s sharp bark snapped everyone to attention. “What is it, Jacob?”
But Meg’s question went unanswered. Jacob gripped his dog’s leash, barely restraining the massive animal. With his nose pointed into a thicket made ghoulish by the lingering dawn fog, Asem snarled and strained for release.
Will tightened his hand on Meg’s upper arm, not knowing when he had reached for her. “Get your things. Quickly.”
She turned without question or argument, retrieving nothing but her new walking stick. “Who comes?”
“I don’t want to chance learning, do you?”
“Me? Take chances?”
“Dryden, come. Let’s have done.”
With the suddenness of a spring shower, a trio of men burst from the thicket. Their scabbards rattled, empty and useless. Barren fists held neither sword nor shield but pumped vigorously, propelling the men across the clearing at a full run. Handsomely decorated surcoats flew behind them, but fright and sweat covered their faces.
Confusion enveloped the clearing. Peasants who had lingered over their midmorning meal scrambled and shouted, retrieving weapons, diving clear of the men.
Dryden collected his belongings and stood beside Will and Meg. Beneath his beard, his face told a story of surprise and concern. “What is this? Monthemer!”
From among the trio, a blond man spun and called Dryden’s name. He urged his two companions to circle
His answering silence provided no clues to his thoughts. The long pause brought her attention back to the flames. Having incinerated everything within easy reach, the dearth of nearby leaves left her restless fingers without a diversion. She fished a piece of dried venison from her alms-bag and picked at its stringy grain. For each piece she ate, she tossed another into the fire.
“Fine. Jacob can come.”
She stood and stretched. “Will Scarlet makes a decision, and all without sainted Uncle Robin Hood.”
Scarlet followed. She checked the need to step away from the ripple of frustration radiating from the red center of his bones. “False gems be damned, I’m ready to risk the consequences to see you fail,” he said.
Irritation spoiled his speech, leaving her to wonder again at his strife with Robin Hood.
She smiled. “Go ahead and leave for Nottingham, if you wish.”
“And where will you be?”
She gripped his forearms, nearly standing on tiptoe to find the privacy of his ear. “I’ll be here. In the forest. With two dozen peasants who believe me a witch. And Hugo as their leader.”
He laced his fingers through the hair at the base of her neck, clutching, pulling her close. Quick breaths fanned across her forehead and nose. “You’re using last night’s bit of chivalry against me.”
“And your conscience, Scarlet. Don’t forget that. It really does work contrary to your ambitions.” She gave the muscled ropes of his forearms an appreciative squeeze. She exhaled, something too near a sigh. “Lovely.”
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“You say what you must to get what you want.”
He released her, like flinging a dangerous animal into the brush. Oh, but she could come to enjoy his lack of control.
“You believe my appreciation for your physique might be such a deception?”
“Is my conclusion absurd?”
She laughed. “If I can navigate a situation without the need for lies, I make do with the truth. No sense muddying clear waters.”
“Witch,” he said. “I can think of another word for you.”
“One lacking in originality, I’d wager.”
Hugo would have hit her, had she dared speak to him that way. Scarlet, however—she could almost hear him gnashing his teeth. She pushed, she pushed again, and still he refrained from violence. But the careening sensations he nurtured in her blood terrified her in new and unpredictable ways, tempting her to take ever-greater chances.
The Devil’s own offer, indeed.
Asem’s sharp bark snapped everyone to attention. “What is it, Jacob?”
But Meg’s question went unanswered. Jacob gripped his dog’s leash, barely restraining the massive animal. With his nose pointed into a thicket made ghoulish by the lingering dawn fog, Asem snarled and strained for release.
Will tightened his hand on Meg’s upper arm, not knowing when he had reached for her. “Get your things. Quickly.”
She turned without question or argument, retrieving nothing but her new walking stick. “Who comes?”
“I don’t want to chance learning, do you?”
“Me? Take chances?”
“Dryden, come. Let’s have done.”
With the suddenness of a spring shower, a trio of men burst from the thicket. Their scabbards rattled, empty and useless. Barren fists held neither sword nor shield but pumped vigorously, propelling the men across the clearing at a full run. Handsomely decorated surcoats flew behind them, but fright and sweat covered their faces.
Confusion enveloped the clearing. Peasants who had lingered over their midmorning meal scrambled and shouted, retrieving weapons, diving clear of the men.
Dryden collected his belongings and stood beside Will and Meg. Beneath his beard, his face told a story of surprise and concern. “What is this? Monthemer!”
From among the trio, a blond man spun and called Dryden’s name. He urged his two companions to circle
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