No Good Deed

by Kara Connolly

  His Honor’s smile got tighter. “I mean your figurative flock, Reverend Mother.”

  She raised her eyes toward heaven with exaggerated piety. “The good Lord protects his humble servants.”

  As fencing matches went, it was hard to beat a God parry. But the sheriff went with the barely veiled threat.

  “I would hate to see anyone take advantage of your charity,” said the sheriff. “The penalty for aiding an outlaw is severe.”

  The look the prioress gave the sheriff said she was done sparring. “We share our gifts with anyone in need, Your Honor, and do not ask questions.”

  The sheriff turned in a slow circle to look at the table full of stew, roasted game birds, and pigeon pie. His gloved fists rested on his hips so his mantle swept out over his elbows, making his silhouette appear larger as he turned back to the nun on the steps. “And who has been sharing gifts with you, madam?”

  Isabel, who stood near the prioress, smoothly took over, addressing the sheriff in respectful tones. “Your Honor, one of our recovered convalescents was kind enough to rid our meadow of some excess wildlife.” Her smile was the perfect politic mix of demure and rueful. “We’ve been overrun by rabbits.”

  “What a shame,” said the sheriff, his tone turning much darker. “My deputy will just make sure you have not been overrun with venison as well. Captain, have your men search the kitchens and cellar.”

  Guilbert looked at the prioress for permission first, a token gesture, then sent his men to the priory kitchens with two sisters to show them the way. Indignation simmered inside me, but I held myself in check, feeling a precarious balance in the courtyard, one that any motion on my part would topple into disaster.

  Then the sheriff gestured to his soldiers and jerked his pointed chin toward the table of food. “Sergeant, search that, too.”

  Two soldiers dismounted and would have barreled right through the nuns if they hadn’t moved first. I squeezed my fists until my joints burned as the soldiers searched the provisions with viciously excessive thoroughness, tearing apart loaves of bread and digging filthy fingers into the soft cheeses.

  “Your Honor!” exclaimed the prioress, horrified. “All that food! The waste…”

  “Have you something to hide?” the sheriff demanded, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He addressed Guilbert exactly the same way as he did his other lackeys. “Search that rabble for illegal game or weapons.”

  The captain set his jaw and grimly moved down the line of alms seekers, who were largely old people or young mothers with terrified kids. They obediently lifted any baskets or bundles, which Guilbert gave a close but quick inspection. He rested his free hand on his sword looking all…swordsman-like. I don’t know. It was a look. Like Lord of the Rings, but better groomed.

  Guilbert reached me and stopped. I folded my arms and stared back at him. He raised a brow; I raised my chin, determined I wasn’t going to break the standoff.

  I lasted longer than I thought I would. “Your boss is a rat bastard,” I said when I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “How can that possibly be a surprise to you?” He looked me up and down. “No bow today?”

  “Where would I hide a longbow?” I flung out one arm, gesturing to the assembled folk. “Where would any of these people hide a—”

  Guilbert caught my wrist, turned my hand over, and examined my finger guards. “What have you been shooting, then?”

  I yanked my hand from his grasp. “Vermin.”

  He tipped his head, mockingly curious. “How fares your fever madness? Is it gone? I cannot tell.”

  I flushed, but before I could answer, one of Nottingham’s brute squad called to the sheriff, “There’s naught here but game birds, m’lord.”

  “Then look more thoroughly,” snapped the sheriff.

  The soldiers each grabbed a corner of the table and toppled the whole thing. Bread and hard cheeses spilled off and rolled under horse hooves. Pitchers of goat’s milk shattered, pots of soft cheese cracked and splattered, and the entire kettle of rabbit stew was upended, filling the air with the smell of meat and herbs before the broth soaked into the dirt.

  The sisters rushed to salvage what they could, risking the soldiers’ feet and the horses’ hooves. The prioress choked on her outrage. “My lord. You…those starving children…”

  I was the tip of a sparkler on the Fourth of July, a lit fuse burning down to blastoff. I knew the sheriff was taking revenge on the nuns for sheltering me, and I shook with the need to do something.

  Something that matters. Rob’s wish was a warning. What would Rob do? He wouldn’t fizzle—he would focus and not waste his shot on a pointless target.

  The sheriff turned to the prioress and Isabel, both of whom were frozen in shock. “Since the Marian Sisters can afford to be so generous to the poor, Northgate Priory can surely afford to help Nottingham prepare for the coming royal visit. Prince John travels with a large entourage, and we will need to host them in grand style.”

  Isabel collected herself first. “My lord sheriff, this is a tiny priory. We have little money.”

  “That is no worry, Lady Isabel. We can take it in kind.” The sheriff looked for Guilbert, who stood stone-faced in the middle of the mess. “Captain, look to the livestock. Whatever they have most of, take half of that.”

  There was an outcry, not just from the prioress and Isabel, though they were the most vehement. Even Guilbert objected, for his own reasons. “Your Honor,” he said, “my men are foresters, not goatherds.”

  “An excellent idea.” The sheriff waved a hand toward the pens behind the kitchen. “Take the goats.”

  “Oh no!” whispered the novice beside me, then more loudly, “Your Honor, please—we’ll have nothing to sell, no milk for the little ones.” She rushed forward, and a burly guard put out a hand and shoved her roughly away from the sheriff, sending her sprawling.

  That was the limit. I sprang forward—and ran smack into Sister Clothilde, who came out of nowhere. She turned me around with a punishing grip on my arm. “Don’t be a fool.”

  Her grip hurt, but it cleared my head. Over my shoulder I saw Isabel rush to the sobbing novice. “This is all happening because of me,” I said through a tight throat.

  “Yes.” Sister Clothilde didn’t spare my feelings. “But I didn’t cure your fever just to let the sheriff provoke you to run onto one of those soldiers’ pikes.”

  Guilbert, his jaw set and his shoulders stiff, gestured for two of his rangers to follow him to the livestock pens. They marched right past me. Clothilde turned to help Isabel, correctly guessing she’d talked me out of attracting the sheriff’s attention. Since Guilbert already knew I was there, I chased after him.

  “Captain!” I ducked around the surprised rangers and dogged his footsteps. He didn’t even break stride. “You can’t do this.”

  “Yet here is the pen, and here are the goats.” He stopped in front of the goat enclosure and faced me. “And here are my rangers to take them away.”

  I jumped in front of the gate, arms spread. Like that would stop him. “The sisters need these goats for their milk. They basically live on cheese and curds and whey.”

  Again with that damned eyebrow. “Curds and whey?”

  “I don’t know what it’s called.” The rangers were watching our exchange with interest. “What about the baby goats? They’ll die without their moms to nurse them.”

  “It is a harsh world,” said Guilbert.

  One of the rangers suggested, “We could take the kids, too, sir.”

  “No!” I cried, while Guilbert demanded, “Do you jest? We have over a mile to go.”

  “I know you can be reasonable,” I said to Guilbert, even though I knew no such thing. Call it a positive affirmation.

  “Move,” he ordered. “Or I will move you.”

  “If you do this,” I said, because clichés were all I had left in my quiver, “then you’re just as bad as the sheriff.”

  A total miss. Guilbert grabbe
d me under the arms, lifted me with hardly a grunt of effort, and set me out of the way. Without his telling them to, the two rangers opened the gate and started rounding up goats.

  “If I were really like the sheriff,” said Guilbert in a dangerous voice, “you would be in irons by now.”

  He had let go of me and turned away before I allowed myself to take a rattled breath. I hadn’t expected him to actually touch me. The rangers paused in their goat wrangling to smirk at my gobsmacked expression. I hoped all three of them got head-butted in the nuts.

  I stalked away from the courtyard because I had to fix this, and if I went near the sheriff or Guilbert, I would do something reckless. Which…okay, happened a lot, but I tried not to be a total idiot unless I absolutely couldn’t help it.

  Jumping the back fence of the apothecary garden, I climbed in the window and then up on a stool to get my bow. The sound of cursing men and bleating goats announced the sheriff’s departure. A few moments later, Isabel came in, an arm around the weeping novice.

  “How many did they take?” I asked.

  The girl sobbed even harder. “Sassy and Polly and Su-su-suuuuue!” She flung herself against Isabel’s chest, soaking her surplice with tears. “She was my favorite!”

  Dammit. They had names. I couldn’t let them be dinner for lousy Prince John. “Are the soldiers returning straight to Nottingham?”

  Isabel watched me warily. “The sheriff is going north with some of his men. He has a half-day still to vent his spleen by making misery. The rest are leading the herd south to town.”

  “Good.” Some was better than all.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, narrow-eyed.

  “What does it look like?” I pulled up the hood of my tunic and settled the quiver with its three measly arrows into place on my back. “I’m going to get back Sassy and Polly and Sue.”

  Rather than catch up to the soldiers via the road, I cut across the priory meadow and chose to go after them through the woods. It wasn’t difficult to get a fix on them. Goats and guards alike were complaining loudly enough to wake the dead. The racket covered any noise I made as I paralleled their progress, keeping the trees between us.

  I counted six men making their way down the wagon trail they called a road. Two had dismounted and, trailing the other soldiers, were herding the goats with their pikes. The goats didn’t like being marched in a line, let alone being tethered to a length of rope like beads on a string.

  Okay, if I could figure out what to do about the soldiers, I could handle three tethered goats. I jogged ahead to scout a good spot for an ambush. There was no end of trees I could climb and then drop down from, onto the soldiers…and get skewered by a pike.

  A little farther, I finally found an optimal place, where the road looped around a rocky outcropping. It offered high ground and a blind curve, and limited room for the ambushee to maneuver. On the downside, I’d be completely exposed while shooting. The fact that I had only three blunt arrows and no desire to actually kill anyone was also a hindrance.

  I stood for a moment, my thumb absently strumming the bowstring like a one-note guitar. The woods were quiet, but not silent. The wind in the trees was a gentle constant, and a rustle in the grass said there was a small animal burrowing nearby, stirring up the scent of loamy earth.

  There was another sound, a high, steady hum. Curious, I followed the noise over the hill, where the hum thickened into a visible cloud around a huge oak tree. One of the branches had succumbed to age and gravity and split from the trunk. The wood had rotted out at the scar, and a nest of hornets had moved in.

  Holy crap. I had a plan.

  Giving the tree a wide berth, I checked out the other side of the road from the hornets’ nest. I was looking for a spot with both cover and a clear shot when a voice whispered, “Girl.”

  I froze, wondering stupidly what other girl was out in the woods and where I should hide. Then the voice came again, less whispery, more mocking. “Hey, girl. Be careful you don’t get stung.”

  The voice came from above me. I spun and saw two men sprawled on separate limbs of a tree, like high-rise construction workers on a break. Once I got over the shock, the men’s identities were not a surprise. One was the handsome man in the jaunty green cap, and the other was his giant friend.

  Green Cap grinned. “What are you doing out of the nunnery? Might it have something to do with the barnyard parade headed this way?”

  “What barnyard parade?” I played clueless, just to gauge their motives.

  He gave me a look that said “Seriously?” in any language. “The one screeching like the devil’s own musicians.”

  “Right,” said the giant, who, unlike the last time we met, was not grinning. “What’s that to do with you?”

  I debated telling a lie, but figured I might as well cut to the chase. “I’m reclaiming the priory’s goats.”

  “What a coincidence,” said Green Cap. “So are we.”

  “No,” I said, drawing the word out. “That’s called stealing.”

  He shrugged, still perched on the tree limb, legs dangling. “We’re outlaws. Stealing is what we do.”

  That was a hard point to argue, so I changed tactics. “If you help me, I will give you one of the goats.”

  “Why should we help you when we could just take all of the goats?” asked the giant.

  “Because I have a plan.” At least, I had most of a plan, which should count. “You have muscles and sticks against armor and horses.”

  “Oh, we have a plan,” said Green Cap, leaning back against the tree trunk. “We plan to watch you try to draw that great huge bow that’s as big as you are. I haven’t had a really good laugh since John here got knocked on his arse by a girl.”

  The giant scowled. It was fiercely effective, what with his bushy brows and thick, reddish beard. “I didn’t know she was one, did I? I’ve daughters of my own, and know better than to cross one.”

  I finally caught up to the fact that he had called me “girl” earlier. They were talking about me.

  “How could you tell?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  Green Cap gave me a droll and roguish look. “That’s a fair disguise, m’lady Longbow. But you don’t wear boots, and the day I don’t appreciate a delicate feminine ankle is the day I’ll meet my maker.”

  Well. That had not been on my list of things that might give me away.

  I almost didn’t blush. “Got a good look when I knocked you flat, I guess.” From his grin, that was a yes.

  I’d kept my Robert Hudson identity so that I could go where I wanted without attracting attention or harassment. With these two I wasn’t worried about my secret so much as I was their interference in my goat reclamation mission. But their reaction brought up a good point—how much angrier would the sheriff be if he found out the lad who got away was actually a lass?

  “Are you going to tell anyone?” I felt stupid talking up into the tree like Alice politely addressing the Cheshire Cat.

  “Not likely,” grumbled the giant. He jerked his thumb at his pal, who doffed his cap with a flourish. “Will doesn’t want it spread about that he accosted a young lady any more than I do.”

  Okay, there were probably fifteen Williams in spitting distance, and fifty Johns. But seriously. “Let me guess,” I said drily. “Will Scarlet?”

  “Will Scarlet?” He laughed, then said it again, trying it out. “Well, I like that better than the name my father left me.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Fitzhugh.” He said it like it was significant, and when I didn’t react, he explained, “The ‘Fitz’ is the Norman way of saying ‘bastard of.’ ”

  I gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Really? What’s the Norman way of saying ‘condescending bastard’?”

  John laughed until he nearly fell out of the tree. “She has you there, Will.”

  “So what’s his name, then?” Will asked, nodding to his large friend.

  “He’s Little Jo
hn, obviously.” When they were both done laughing, I shifted my bow and said impatiently, “Do you want to help me steal some goats, or what?”

  The pair exchanged a look, and then John swung down from the branch. “We’ve nothing better to do today.”

  Will jumped down. “Well then?” he asked as he adjusted his cap to the perfect angle. “What do we call you?”

  I’d been avoiding naming myself because the obvious alias was so…obvious. But it also seemed inevitable. “Just call me Robin Hood.”

  The name was clearly meaningless to them. I sighed and got back to business. “They’ll be coming down that road in a minute or so. Once they get to that big tree with the hornets’ nest, I’ll cause a distraction so the soldiers let the livestock go. You stand clear, and when the goats run, herd them back around the bend and keep going. I saw a little cave between the two hills….”

  “I know it,” said Will, amused for some reason. Maybe because I was telling him his outlaw business.

  John squinted at the tree. “You’re going to hit that nest? And not get stung? Or spotted by the soldiers?”

  I pointed to the spot I’d scouted. “I’ll be over there.”

  “You’ll never make that shot,” said Little John. “It’s too far.”

  With an evaluating eye on the flight path, Will agreed. “All those trees? It’ll be like threading a needle.”

  He was right, but I knew what would make it easier. “Do you have sharp arrows in that quiver?” I asked.

  He put a protective hand around the fletched shafts. “Do you know how much of other people’s money these cost me?”

  “Do you know how much I want to get the priory’s goats back?” I asked, giving him my game face.

  “Give her the arrows, Will,” growled John. “It’s for the nuns.”

  “Fine.” He gave me a handful, which would have been extremely generous if he’d paid for them himself. He’d probably paid a good bit of other people’s money for his clothes, too.

  “How do you sneak up on anyone in an outfit like that?” I asked, eyeing the red tipping on his cowl, and his royal-blue leggings. This was apparently an old subject between the two friends, because John laughed again and Will looked disgruntled.