Hood

by Jenny Elder Moke

  Her shoulders stiffened. “I am only just beginning.”

  “Well, it’ll be over soon enough if you fight like that.”

  She set her teeth and moved again to strike, but again he knocked her dagger away as if swatting a fly. Patrick had made it seem easy enough, but each time Adam’s blade glinted toward her, she cringed involuntarily. She stepped back, frustration bringing tears of embarrassment to her eyes, and balled her fist around the knife.

  “This is why I asked for Patrick’s help,” she said, her voice trembling in shame.

  Adam was quiet a moment as she fought to control the quivering in her hands. Of course she could not learn to fight like them after only one brief lesson. She would have no hope against the mercenaries keeping her mother; they would shred her in ribbons before she could even draw her own knife.

  “I’m not trying to upset you, Isabelle,” Adam said finally, blowing out a breath. “In all honesty, you’re not doing so bad. Your stance is solid, you’ve got a good grip, and you’re doing a sight better than Little ever does protecting your ribs. But it’s a whole different thing, fighting someone who means to harm you. Even with everything I taught Abigail, she still couldn’t…I failed her. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me, I couldn’t keep her safe. Try as I have—and believe me I’ve tried damn hard—I haven’t been able to keep you safe, either.”

  Isabelle stared at him willfully. “It is not your job to keep me safe.”

  Adam threw up his hands. “I know it’s not my bloody job, but I want to.”

  “Oh.” Isabelle’s fingers unclenched, the tension going out of her jaw and shoulders at the defeat on Adam’s face. The idea of Adam worrying about her was strangely thrilling, and her heart picked up its pace as she longed to reach out a hand and smooth away the frown forming between his brows. He let out a frustrated grunt and turned away from her, pacing a few steps away and then turning back.

  “You have to be better than good,” he said. “You have to be something they don’t expect. You have to surprise them.”

  “Then show me something surprising.”

  Adam narrowed his gaze on her, but she did not break this time, meeting his eyes steadily. “Fine,” he said, turning his back to her. “Grab me from behind.”

  She stepped forward hesitantly as Adam set his hands on his hips and waited. She floundered for a few moments, wondering how she was expected to get a firm hold of him. But then she remembered Blade twisting her arm behind her back and pressing the knife to her throat when he caught her on the roof in Lincoln, and she stepped up behind Adam and grabbed him as Blade had grabbed her. She tried not to put too much pressure on his arm, afraid of causing injury. Adam sighed.

  “Like you mean it, sister.”

  She glared, wrenching his arm up harder, and was rewarded with a small grunt. She had to stretch up on her toes to bring the knife over his shoulder and press it to his throat, but she at least had a good grip on him. He wriggled his arm, but she increased the pressure, holding him in place.

  “That’s better,” he said. “A little overenthusiastic, but better. You ready?”

  “For what?” she asked, but then he was moving so fast she had no time to react. In a blur he twisted out of her grip and stepped behind her, sweeping her off her feet and dropping her within inches of the ground. She tensed, bracing for the impact, but he cradled her by her back and shoulder in a low dip. She scrabbled to grab hold of him as he swept her back up, setting her on her feet but keeping hold of her waist.

  “I have no idea what just happened,” she said, breathless.

  “That’s the point. I’ll show you again, slow this time.”

  He gave her instructions as they moved through the positions, stepping behind her and setting his hip against hers to use as a fulcrum to throw her down. She focused hard on his words, trying to set aside the painful awareness where their thighs touched. He swept her back and again she fell, but he caught her inches from the ground, his long fingers trailing down her arms as he pulled her up.

  “Have you got it?” he asked.

  She nodded, though she was not at all sure. “I think so.”

  “Good, now you try,” he said, stepping behind her.

  Her first attempt was pitiful, and Adam was quick to say so. She tried two more times, each time throwing herself off-balance instead. The frustration rose again, but she tightened her heart around it, using it to fuel her concentration and block out the sensation of Adam’s arms around her and the awareness of her own frailty beside him.

  Adam was mid-instruction on another attempt when she pulled at his arm and twisted her hips, stepping behind him and grabbing his tunic to throw him down. His eyes widened as she turned, the force of his fall dragging her down as her hands tangled in his tunic. He landed with a thud, and she dropped on top of him, his face twisting with a grunt of pain.

  She pulled up, her hands splaying over his chest. “Are you all right? I am so sorry, I was trying to take you by surprise as you said, but then I could not let go. Did I hurt you?”

  “Only my pride,” he said with the faintest hint of a wheeze. “That was brilliant, Isabelle. You’re brilliant.”

  He put his hands on her hips, and whatever she meant to say next shattered against the feel of his fingers along her lower back, the length of him pressed against her and his heart thumping away beneath hers. She dropped her gaze to his jaw, his cheeks darkened considerably with stubble that lent him a disheveled air of wildness. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, though she could feel them burning into her, her chest rising and falling in time with his as her head spun in wider orbits. She had been staring at his mouth too long, filling the space between them with too heavy a silence. One hand swept up her back, tracing every indent in her spine and tightening something insistent and excruciating in her. Her hands slid up his chest and over his neck, brushing against the stubble on his chin. His skin vibrated with life under her fingertips.

  A twig snapped nearby, followed by the soft nicker of the horses. Isabelle sprang up and stumbled back as if Adam had caught on fire, the heat exploding over her face as she desperately wished for some hidden alcove in which to bury her mortification. Adam leapt to his feet in one swift movement, but he turned his face away from her, lines of tension running across his shoulders and down his back. Patrick and Helena emerged from the trees, their expressions making it clear that the twig was broken on purpose.

  “We should go soon, if we want to reach the priory by nightfall,” said Patrick, studiously avoiding both of their gazes. Helena, for her part, fairly gloated.

  “Before anything else gets out of hand,” she said, looking Isabelle up and down. Isabelle was sure she would burst into a thousand scattered ashes of humiliation at the look. “Or into hand, as the case may be.”

  Isabelle quietly asked to ride with Patrick the rest of the way to Kirklees, but the distance did nothing to stop the heat that suffused her skin at the memory of Adam’s body beneath her, his hands sliding along her back. She thought the burning shame of it must be lighting her up like the full moon, but if the others noticed her discomfort, they said nothing. Helena did hum a suspiciously chipper tune as they rode along, though.

  What was she thinking? Here she was, on her way to rescue her mother from England’s cruelest nobleman, and all she wanted was to touch Adam’s cheek again and feel his rough stubble against her soft fingertips. It must be the nerves that were getting to her; her mind was only trying to distract itself from what was to come. But every time she caught sight of Adam, her fingers twitched at the desire to bury themselves in his wavy locks.

  She was losing her mind. She was absolutely losing her mind. There was no other explanation for how he drove her to the point of distraction and set her nerve endings on fire by simply looking at her. Oh, she could just imagine Sister Catherine’s snide little lip curl if she saw her now, dressed as an outlaw and intimately familiar with a young man. There weren’t enough floors to scrub or prayers of p
enitence to appease the sister now. Not that she wanted to any longer.

  Her discomfort shifted into a sharp sense of apprehension the closer they drew to the priory. Unlike the ancient oaks of Sherwood, these woods were familiar; she recognized the mossy trunks and the lean squirrels and the cooing larks. The apprehension grew as the road curved away and then back again, and her heart kept a pacing drumroll the lower to the horizon the sun dropped. She was returning home.

  Kirklees Priory sprawled over the land before them, the low wall and meager buildings sending a jolt of recognition through Isabelle as her gaze swept over her home. It seemed at once familiar and foreign, as if someone had picked up the entire estate and moved it a few feet to the left. The buildings were smaller than she remembered, but whether that was because she was looking at them from a distance or because her knowledge of the world had expanded she couldn’t decide.

  Little John signaled a halt and led them toward a copse of trees beside the road, the foliage providing just enough cover for their horses. The others dismounted and quickly tied up their horses, and Isabelle waved off Patrick’s offer of help in favor of dismounting herself. It was neither graceful nor efficient, but she managed to reach the ground on her own and keep her feet under her.

  “It’ll be dark soon,” John said, pulling a few loaves of bread and cuts of meat from his pack. “Eat now.”

  “I’ll check the perimeter,” Patrick said, melting into the trees.

  Adam handed Isabelle a chunk of bread and meat along with a skin of water. The idea of putting anything in her stomach at the moment was far from appealing, but she saw the wisdom in their advice. She couldn’t be sure when she would next have a chance to eat.

  “What’s the plan, then, sister?” Little asked, munching happily away on his share as if they were going out for a midnight stroll.

  Isabelle paused in her chewing, looking at their expectant faces. “What do you mean?”

  Adam swept his hand toward the shadowy hulk of Kirklees Priory, his mind turned to the business at hand. “You’re the expert here.”

  The four of them were looking at her—at her—to guide the way. This was her home, her territory, and she had insisted on leading them. But how? It was one thing to know the layout of the priory buildings and the secret ingresses and the perfect path through the orchard to stay under cover of the trees. But what did she really know about evading mercenaries and staging rescues? Surely they did not expect her, of all people, to be in charge?

  Be braver than you feel. Her mother’s hands on her cheeks, the rushed intensity of their embrace, the storm of fear and worry in her eyes. Her jittery apprehension gave way to a growing anger and resolve at the thought of her beautiful mother, the always judicious and compassionate prioress, being kept a prisoner in their home. Something hardened and solidified within Isabelle, and as she took a deep breath in, it felt as if she drew in the strength of the earth around her. A greater purpose filled her lungs and infused her blood, and she nodded at the reflection of determination in her friends’ gazes.

  “There is a break in the priory wall along the back side of the orchard,” she said. “To the northwest behind a large English oak. The stones are still there, but they are easy to remove. Unless the Wolf’s men have discovered it, that will be our best way in.”

  Patrick emerged from the shadows, a second form taking shape behind him. Robin’s expression was grave, though he gave Isabelle a wink when his eyes landed on her.

  “Well, it’s about time you lot arrived,” he said in a low voice. “Here I was thinking I would have to do all the heroic rescuing myself.”

  John leaned back against a tree trunk. “What’s it look like?”

  Robin shook his head. “The Wolf did not take any chances. There are at least forty men patrolling the ins and outs of the priory, and from what we could see of the dormitories, he’s got half of them guarding where the sisters sleep. Probably where he’s keeping Marien.”

  Little John looked up to the darkening night sky. “Won’t be long now.”

  Isabelle nodded, her body buzzing with nervous energy. “I am ready.”

  Robin laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Isabelle. There’s no shame in letting us handle it.”

  Isabelle shook her head resolutely. “She is my mother. I will be the one to set her free.”

  Robin took her by both shoulders, pulling her in and kissing the top of her head. “I couldn’t be prouder of you. You’re everything a father could wish for.”

  “You embarrass me, Father,” Isabelle whispered, blushing deeply as she glanced at the others.

  “Oh, go on,” he said, waving them off. “If a father can’t honestly praise his daughter before his Merry Men, what good are they?”

  “I thought it was touching,” Little said solemnly.

  “That’s because you’re a fool,” Helena said, the words slipping out as they always did. But when she caught Robin’s look, she cleared her throat. “That is to say, you would be a fool if you did not find it touching.”

  Isabelle stifled her smile. Robin tightened his grip on her shoulders, his blue gaze piercing.

  “You have the blood of kings and rebels within you, love. Let it rise to meet the call.”

  Adam stacked the last stone back in place on the orchard wall, the late-autumn harvest of apples sweetening the air around them as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. The moon peered through patches of dense clouds, lighting the thinning trees with a spooky, ethereal quality. Isabelle had wandered among these trees thousands of times in her childhood at all hours of the day and night, but it was now more dangerous than any of her other nighttime forays.

  “Are you sure they will be all right out there?” she whispered to Adam, rising up on her toes as if she could see over the brick wall. “The woods do not provide the same coverage here as they do in Sherwood.”

  Little snorted beside her. “If anyone should be worried, it’s the poor bastard who finds himself afoul of the Merry Men.”

  “They’ll be fine,” Adam said. “It’s we who need your worry. Where to now?”

  Isabelle swallowed, checking the neat rows of trees leading up to the dormitory. Her heart thumped as each sway of the trees and creak of the branches imbued the night with sinister unrest. Somewhere beyond where they crouched, dozens of mercenaries waited with sharpened swords and keen eyes. How could she hope to outwit them?

  “Have faith, Isabelle,” Adam murmured against her ear. “We’re with you.”

  She nodded, taking a deep breath and ordering her senses back into submission. She couldn’t lose her determination now, not when her mother and father were relying on her.

  “Follow me,” she said, her steps making no sound as she set off through the orchard.

  The heavy clouds concealed their movements as they ran, snaking toward the main buildings of the priory. The sisters would be at matins, and the midnight prayer gathering would give them time to gain access to the dormitory. They reached the edge of the orchard, ducking for cover behind a discarded cart used for hauling apples to the cellarium.

  Indistinct figures moved through the arched openings of the dormitory building leading to the cloister within. Isabelle held her breath until the mercenaries passed out of sight, their pace steady and brisk. The slotted windows overhead were no more than black holes in the stone. Isabelle stared hard at the darkened window of her quarters but could make out no movement or light within.

  “The last window on the left,” she whispered, pointing up.

  As soon as the patrol moved out of sight, she sprinted across the open space, throwing herself flat against the wall into the shadows. She listened for any approaching footsteps before running her hands over the stones, searching for a familiar grip. It had been over a year since she had done this, but her fingers remembered the way, and soon she had her first handhold. She set her toe into the jutting stone at the bottom of the wall and pushed up, blindly reaching for the next s
tone far to her right.

  She continued up the wall, her feet and hands moving as surely as a spider climbing a familiar path. Without the encumbrance of her habit, it was a faster ascent than she was used to, and she reached the lip of the window in only a few seconds. She peered over the edge, but all was darkness within, so she hauled herself up and tumbled inside.

  The familiar smells of the dormitory greeted her as she rolled onto her feet, dusting straw from her hose and righting her bow over her shoulder. She inhaled the sweet scent of lemon and lavender from the sisters’ soaps, the tang of incense left burning in the church, and the musty straw of their pallets. Patrick landed with a whisper behind her, pivoting around the room with quick movements as if he expected someone to leap out of the shadows.

  “No one is here,” Isabelle whispered. Her room was separated from the rest of the sleeping quarters by flimsy walls constructed of thin slats of wood, and she caught glimpses of the room next door through the cracks. “They will have gone to matins by now. They should not return until the bells chime again.”

  “Bloody guards,” said Helena from the window as she crawled in. “Nearly ran right across the path of one walking the perimeter outside. The dogs are everywhere.”

  “Did you see that?” Little whispered, his head popping up below the window. “Oi, Helena, you nearly cost us the whole bit.”

  “Shut up,” Helena snapped. “He came out of nowhere.”

  “You’ve been holding out on us, sister,” Little continued, folding himself over to fit through the narrow window. “That was brilliant, climbing that wall as you did. You’re a natural Merry Man. Though I suppose that’s true enough anyway, isn’t it?”

  Isabelle smiled with chagrin. “I did become rather adept at sneaking in and out at night. Priory life can be a bit…”

  “Imprisoning?” Helena offered.

  “Boring?” Little added.

  “Constraining,” Isabelle replied.

  Adam appeared at the opening of the window, eyeing the narrow passage with doubt. “Maybe I can squeeze myself through the eye of a needle when I’m done here.”