by M. Lynn
Tuck nodded from the doorway of a nearby shop, and Amalie quickened her step. Inside, a pungent scent hung in the air. Jars of herbs lined every surface, mixing their odors.
“This is David Caster.” Tuck gestured to the older man rearranging jars near the window.
Amalie studied him. Before joining her, Tuck was a traveling friar. He had those he trusted in every town, every village. But she was cautious.
She bent to peer at a ceramic bowl filled with dried purple leaves. “You an herbalist, David?”
“Yes, my lady.” He stood straight but lowered his eyes in respect.
Tuck reached behind a table, revealing a bow and quiver of arrows. It put Amalie at ease, providing her with some semblance of control. With a bow in her hand, she decided what happened next. She reached for it, running her hands along the smooth wood. The lady Amalie couldn’t travel with a bow and risk being seen with anything connecting her to the Hood. As far as anyone knew, she was just a helpless noble who relied on people like Tuck and John to protect her.
But they didn’t have John this time. She lifted her eyes to Tuck. “Just us then?” None of the others had traveled with them. Most of her band were wanted for some infraction or another and wouldn’t be welcome so near the palace. She’d have felt better if they were there.
She flicked her eyes to David, not knowing how much she could trust him.
Tuck eyed him cautiously as well.
Before Tuck could say another word, the door crashed open and a girl burst into the room, red hair flying about her heart-shaped face.
“Uncle,” she addressed David, ignoring Amalie and Tuck. “It’s true. I saw him. They have one of the Merry Men.” Excitement rang in her voice.
Amalie shared an alarmed look with Tuck. It was time.
The excitement wasn’t only in the girl. Out on the streets, the mood was palpable. No one had ever been that close to the Hood and John was seen as an extension of the elusive criminal.
Only, these people didn’t see the Hood as a criminal. Hushed whispers and awestruck words told a different story. Among the great houses and palaces of Gaule, the Hood was a nuisance, interrupting their otherwise comfortable lives. But in the villages, in the streets, he was one of them. Fighting for them.
What would they think if they knew it was a woman they spoke of? A noble one at that.
Amalie hid the bow and quiver beneath her cloak and moved closer to the platform. She’d exchanged her flared dresses for tight fitting brown trousers and a forest green tunic, loose enough to hide the curves of her body.
A wagon rumbled up with the prisoners chained in the back. Her eyes went to John. His handsome face looked drawn with dark circles under his eyes and an uncharacteristic beard coated his cheeks. Gone was the warmth she knew him for. The easy smiles and kind eyes.
The world had beaten him down. Weeks in a prison cell awaiting one’s own execution was the worst kind of torture.
Tuck gripped her elbow and pulled her to the side of the crowd.
“Are you going to be able to do this?” he asked.
She nodded. She had to. They had a plan. Tuck gave her one last long look before leaving to perform his duties. The town’s friar had taken to his bed in sickness thanks to an herb from David’s shop. So, it fell to Tuck to provide the last rituals for the condemned.
Amalie entered an empty storefront and thundered up the stairs. The window they’d chosen overlooked the day’s activities. A few men David trusted agreed to watch the building and be on the alert for anyone following her.
Movement at the back of the crowd caught her attention, and Amalie froze momentarily. Tyson stood with his arms crossed, surveying the scene before him. Amalie couldn’t tell what was going through his mind as she peered down from the window. There was a time when she could read him so easily. She’d known everything about him.
Now, a stranger walked in his shoes.
She shook her head and shifted so the giant wooden shutters hid her. The room was obviously lived in with a rumpled bed in the corner and still warm coals in the fireplace. But David had assured Tuck it would be unoccupied.
Amalie would never get used to the high stakes of the game they played. She couldn’t count the number of missions she’d led her people on, but the nerves never went away. Plucking her finger against the string of her bow, she waited. Their plan was risky, but it was all they had.
A guard led the prisoners onto the platform and Tuck stepped forward, black robe billowing around his legs.
Edmund stood to the side of the platform as he turned, his eyes seeming to find her hiding place. No, he couldn’t see her. Could he? He stared for a moment longer before turning back to the ceremony happening before them. They allowed prisoners a few final words before the friar performed the ceremony of the dead, giving them peace before their last breath.
Amalie didn’t hear what any of the other prisoners said as she focused on John. He spoke last.
When he cleared his throat, the entire crowd grew quiet, listening for any word about the Hood.
John stared at them unapologetically. He’d never been ashamed of his station in life. It was one of the things Amalie loved about him.
“I am not innocent,” he began. “At least of the things they accuse me of. I have spent the last two years beside the most honorable person I know. The one you call the Hood.”
Amalie sucked in a breath as murmuring broke out among the crowd.
“They call us thieves,” John continued. “Bandits. Criminals. But it is them who steal from us. They take food from the mouths of our children. The nobles care nothing for us. I am one of you. I grew up with no home, nothing to call my own except my honor. And that is not something they can take from me in death.”
A cheer rose up. They rooted for him.
When the hangman put a hand on John’s shoulder and jerked him back, the people screamed in protest.
Amalie’s heart thudded against her ribs, but John showed no fear. In that moment, the man they called John Little was the giant among them.
Tuck’s voice rose above the rest as he addressed each man and allowed them to drink from the chalice he held. Their final rites.
He stepped in front of John. To her friends’ credit, neither of them showed any sign of recognition. Their lives rested on their ability to remain anonymous.
“John Little,” he began.
Amalie couldn’t see his movements but she knew the moment Tuck must have shifted his hand to slip the herb into the chalice. John, with his hawk-like eyes, must have seen it too because he straightened.
But he trusted Tuck.
He took a sip before handing the cup back. Tuck stepped away, giving Amalie the clear view she needed.
Hopefully John would forgive her for what she had to do next.
She pulled an arrow free and rested it against the string of her bow as she flexed her fingers and took a deep breath to still her shaking hands. Edmund, still next to the platform moved, distracting her as she loosed the arrow. His head jerked up to stare at her as her arrow continued its arc. Amalie knew immediately it would miss her intended target.
The crowd screamed, pushing each other out of the way as they scrambled for safety from the supposed attack.
Amalie quickly knocked a second arrow, cursing herself, and set it free. John jerked back, the shaft of wood stuck in his arm. Tuck caught him as he pitched forward, unable to hold himself up any longer.
“It’s the Hood!” someone cried. “They’ve come to keep him silent.”
Amalie didn’t have time to consider what it meant if the people believed she’d kill her own men. She dropped the bow and sprinted from the room to run down the stairs and out into the crowd.
Missing on the first try lost her precious time. She’d lost her focus and John deserved more than that. What if she’d hit something important? She’d been aiming for a non-life threatening injury, but it all happened so quickly. The herb Tuck had given John would make him appear
as if he’d stopped breathing. Her job had been to give them a cause for his supposed death.
She’d meant to shoot her best friend.
And now she only hoped he wasn’t truly dead.
She slammed into a solid wall of muscle and hands gripped her shoulders. Glaring up into the eyes of the man who could ruin everything, she ripped herself free. “Let me go.”
As she tried darting around him, Edmund yanked her arm back. She reached for the knife tucked into her belt, knowing full well she couldn’t use it on her friend.
“Stop,” he commanded, pulling her after him into a narrow alleyway and away from the crowd.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you,” he grunted.
Something about his words rang true, and it was only then she realized he didn’t mean to turn her in to the queen. She stopped struggling and let him guide her around the corner. Noise from the crowd faded behind them and she looked back over her shoulder. Was John okay? Worry gnawed at her, but she didn’t turn back yet.
Edmund reached out and ripped the hood from Amalie’s head. “Take that off.”
How could she have forgotten she was wearing it? At least anyone at the hanging would have seen the hood, but not the woman behind it.
Edmund shoved the hood at her chest and she stuffed it quickly in the bag hanging over her shoulder. He stopped walking and turned to her.
“Did you even consider how you’d get out of there?” His scowl irritated her. This man didn’t know her anymore.
“Of course I did.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Then I’m sure you knew of the guards who spotted you as soon as you exited the building? Or the villagers who were almost close enough to get a peek underneath that hood of yours?”
Amalie blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Of course.” She was lying. In her haste to get to John, she’d grown careless. She’d never been so ill prepared in her life. It was why she was normally so good at what she did. She left her emotions behind.
A thought struck her. “You can’t tell Tyson.”
He raised a brow.
But she didn’t stop. A man she’d barely seen in years now held her life in his hands. If he went to the guards or told the queen her identity, everything would come crashing down.
And if Tyson knew… she shook her head. The self-righteous prince would tell her to stop. He’d never imagine the girl he’d once claimed was too good for her family would skulk around forests, stealing to support her people.
Anger burned through her as Edmund studied her. He hunched his shoulders to peer into her eyes, his tall frame towering over hers.
“Why did you help me?” Her voice had lost some of its confidence.
He blew out a breath. “You really have to ask that, Amalie? I’ve known you for many years.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “What you’re doing is dangerous. I’ve heard the stories of the Hood all the way in Bela.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Someone had to feed my people.”
He put a hand on her shoulders and peered into her eyes. “I get why you’re doing it, but…” He pushed out a frustrated breath. “Fine. I won’t tell Tyson, but you need to prepare.”
“For what?”
“We’ve received a mission from the queen. She has asked Tyson to search for the Hood. Apparently, Simon is missing.”
She averted her eyes, but Edmund didn’t move his hands. “Where is Simon, Amalie?”
She sighed. “Alive. That’s all I can tell you. I have to go. My friends are counting on me.”
He released her. “Once upon a time, we were your friends too.”
At those words, Edmund walked away, back toward the crowd they’d left behind.
But Amalie stood frozen for a moment longer. Tyson was tasked with capturing the Hood—capturing her.
She reached into her bag, curling her fingers in the rough woolen hood, letting it calm her frantic heart. She couldn’t control many things, but she would decide what Tyson saw, what he learned.
John’s face flashed across her mind. Tyson Durand would have to wait. Another man needed her.
She ditched the bag containing the hood in a corner of the alley, knowing it would be a death sentence to be caught with it. Armed with only a simple dagger in a sheathe at her waist, she left the relative quiet of the alleyway and skirted the edge of the still panicking crowd.
On the platform, two men hung by their necks. They’d decided to go ahead with the executions after all. Neither man was John, and she sighed in relief.
Avoiding the platform altogether, Amalie kept her pace even to avoid the appearance of running from the scene. Hopefully Tuck would be at the rendezvous point with John. Tuck had asked David to procure a cart and horses for them.
It was a fair bit of walking to the edge of the village where a vast plain stretched between them and the dark edges of the Black Forest.
She’d feared the ominous place before she learned there were real monsters that existed outside the stories of a haunted wood. La Dame had been pure evil, but so had Amalie’s own father and sister.
Behind one of the houses at the end of town, a small stables housing only a few horses stood, rotting boards leaning in. Moss stretched up the side of the building. Beyond it, black cows lingered in the green pasture.
“Hello, dear.” A voice said behind her.
Amalie jumped at the sound before turning to face the plump older woman. Her dusty hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She carried a pail of milk with one hand as she wiped the other on her dirty apron.
“You must be the lady Amalie.” The woman’s face stretched into the kind of smile Amalie rarely saw anymore. Warm. Sweet.
Spending her life surrounded by men who belonged in a cell as much as in the open had taken most kind interactions from her world. She loved her boys, and they loved her, but no one had spoken to her with such warmth since she’d forsaken Queen Catrine.
Remembering her manners, Amalie returned the smile. “I hope this is the right place.”
The woman nodded. “My David said you’d be buying our cart and a couple horses for your travels.”
Of course. She wanted to be paid. Amalie reached into the pouch at her waist, procuring a few gold coins. It was more than a cart and horses were worth, but from the state of the falling down barn and small house, she knew it would be a help. Her father left the estate with fat coffers. If she couldn’t help the people who needed it, what good was the money for? She held out the coins.
The woman took a step back. “Oh no. I can’t take your money, dear.”
“It isn’t charity. It’s for the cart.”
The woman smiled again and reached out. Amalie thought she’d take the coins, but she folded Amalie’s fingers closed and held onto her wrist.
“There are many others who need your help. We get by.” She pierced Amalie with a knowing stare.
Panic built in Amalie’s chest. She knew. How many people knew of the Hood’s identity? It would only take one for it all to come to light.
The woman released her as the rumble of cart wheels reached them. Two horses pulled a wagon that had seen better days. The sides were cracked and splitting. The wheels creaked with each turn.
But that wasn’t what caught Amalie’s attention. Forgetting about the older woman, she ran toward the cart. It pulled to a stop in front of her. David and the young girl from before sat atop it, steering the horses.
Tuck jumped from the back where Amalie could now see John’s form.
“How bad is it?” Amalie asked, rushing to the side. She reached in to feel John’s pulse.
Tuck pulled her back. “We won’t know until he wakes. The herb makes him appear dead, but he’s been wounded badly. I removed the arrow and wrapped the wound quickly, but it will need to be taken care of with more precision.
“What did we do, Tuck?” She turned her face up to his. “Did we kill him?”
He gripped her shoulders. “He’d have died i
f we didn’t try. At least this gave him a chance. It’s only an arm wound. He should live. I worry more about infection setting in from the old wound in his leg.”
She shuddered, and he pulled her into his side.
It took her a moment to remember everything that had happened. “I shot him.”
Tuck cleared his throat. “You had to.”
The girl stepped forward. “I would have never imagined it was a woman. This is… wow.”
“You can’t tell anyone.” Amalie didn’t take her eyes from John’s serene face. “I need your vow of silence. What happened here today is not to be spoken of.”
The girl nodded.
“You have our promise,” David said.
Amalie nodded. “We must be on our way. Thank you for your help.” She didn’t say the words out loud, but they needed to return home before Tyson arrived. She knew the prince almost as well as she knew herself. His mission might be to find the Hood, but he wouldn’t be able to resist a visit to her, no matter the chilly reception he received.
Princes were stubborn beasts.
Tuck climbed onto the driver’s seat and Amalie pulled herself into the wagon bed beside John.
Before long, the village lay in their past and open road stretched out before them.
Amalie checked the bandage. Tuck wrapped it in a hurry as he rode in the back of the cart, but it wasn’t any worse than she would do. Sweat soaked John’s hair and Amalie caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. His chest rose before going still again.
She placed her finger on his neck, taking comfort in the thumping of his pulse. She hadn’t had Tyson on her side in a long time. Her family was dead. Catrine was more queen than friend now. But John… he was always there, picking up the pieces of her life each time they scattered on the winds of change.
Three years ago
Home.
Amalie hadn’t been back to her father’s lands in a long time. No, not her father’s. They belonged to her now. From the Eastern river to the grain fields along the edges of the Hinton lands. The village in the south and smaller settlement to the west.