Each of the children owned several tunics now, as well as warm woolen cloaks, and sturdy shoes. Although they lived a rough life by Merry’s former standards, she had never seen the peasant children so plump, healthy, and well-dressed back in their home village. When they first escaped, many of them had been dressed in tattered brown rags.
Little Wren wobbled up beside them upon her chubby toddler legs. “Ma-wee, Ma-wee. Me have teeth!” She grinned with teeth together and gums spread wide to display a row of tiny teeth the color of pearls. Then she began to cough. A rough, croaking cough.
Merry withheld a frown. For the past two autumns, Wren had been struck by a malady of the lungs. Might it be starting again? Merry determined to check her supply of herbal remedies soon. But no need to concern the child now. “Those are lovely, my little Wren. Be sure you let Abigail scrape them clean with a stick each night before bedtime.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Wren stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Merry doubted many of the children had cleaned their teeth before she took over their care.
Even their huts looked better constructed than the wattle-and-daub homes of the peasant village surrounding her father’s castle. Though she had long considered her father a fair and brave man for standing against the king, she now considered their entire social order as fundamentally unjust.
Red poked his head through the doorway of the largest construction project—a wooden fort of sorts, which could serve as a storage facility, group dining hall, meeting place, and even a school when time allowed. “Lady Merry.”
Just plain Merry, she grumbled to herself, knowing saying it aloud would accomplish nothing. “Yes, Red.”
“The council of elders is ready for you.”
Council of elders, indeed. Merry held back a grin at the ludicrous title. When first they had all been orphaned, she appointed this group of “elders” to help her lead. At the time they had ranged in age from thirteen to fifteen. Now, two years later, this esteemed group ranged from fifteen to her own seventeen years of age. She thought giving them an impressive title would instill confidence, and somehow it had. Even for her.
If only her beloved older brother had not gone back to help on that ill-fated night. If only he had stayed with the children as her father instructed. If only . . . Her life was full of if onlys. If only her father had not plotted against the king. If only King John was not so epically evil.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Focusing upon what could have been served little purpose.
But somehow their band of raggedy orphans had managed eight seasons alone in the woods, outside of the law, keeping everyone alive. Even their precious Wren, the infant they had carried into the forest that horrible night.
“God give you good day,” she said to Big Charles as she ducked through the low doorway of the hut, and he merely nodded. Charles rarely spoke. Due to his childish mind and huge size, he had been assigned as permanent guard of the camp, a task he performed with admirable diligence.
Inside the dim room with walls of woven branches waited Red, Cedric, James, Allen, Kate, and Jane, all in a semicircle. Merry assumed an air of dignity she did not feel and lowered herself onto a large stump. She pulled back her hood, giving them an unobscured view of her feminine features and hair. Although she had bobbed her brown tresses to chin length long ago, the silken curls would ever give her away as a girl.
She cleared her throat. “Welcome to the first official meeting in our new home.”
They cheered.
“Let us begin with reports. Kate, you first, please.”
“Supplies are holding.” Kate brushed her own straggly brown hair from her eyes with a regal air of authority. These former peasants took great pride in their new positions. “We have plenty for two fortnights, assuming hunting, fishing, and minor raids continue with the same degree of success.”
“Fishing and hunting are going well,” reported Red.
“Raids upon wealthy townsfolk and manor homes have proven profitable, although I still wish we would leave some sort of token,” Cedric said, with an incorrigible wiggle of his eyebrows. “The Ghosts of Farthingale Forest strike again. Perhaps a single wisp of white cloth.”
“That would serve no purpose but to demonstrate our arrogance and leave a trail.” Although amused by his wit, Merry glared in his direction.
He sat a little straighter. “I merely jest, Lady Merry. Of course I would never do such a thing. Anonymity is our friend.”
“Stealth . . . ” Kate opened the chant, and they all joined in. “ . . . anonymity, and restraint. These are our allies. These three we shall never betray.”
“Excellent.” Merry clapped her hands together. “Let us never forget it. This pledge has taken us further than we ever dreamed.”
“And now we have an entire coffer of gold coins to guard,” said Allen, head of camp security.
That gold had lain heavy upon Merry’s mind since the moment she had stolen it. The chest contained much more than she had imagined. A small fortune. She feared she had made a dreadful error that would move the Ghosts of Farthingale Forest from fanciful local legend to notorious thieves worthy of capture. But the deed could not be undone. “When we resume full-scale missions, some of the men must always stay behind to help Big Charles guard the camp. And the time has come to train the boys who have passed ten years of age since our initial formation. How many is that, Jane?”
Jane served as surrogate mother to the younger children. She had a commendable system for organizing them and assigning tasks. “Only three boys have passed their tenth birthdays since the first round was trained, but I believe Sadie fancies herself the next Lady Merry. Methinks she will insist to be trained as well. She’s already quite handy with the bow.”
“Four, then,” said Merry. “Excellent. Allen, you can begin training at once. And do not dare go easy on Sadie.”
Years ago, all the older girls besides Merry had chosen traditional female roles. Excitement thrummed through her at the thought of raising up another woman warrior. “Be tough on that girl.”
“Yes, sir . . . um . . . I mean, m’lady,” Allen stammered, with a blush that colored the center of each cheek.
Authority suited her, and well she knew it. Someday she might choose one of the young men as a husband, to share her position of authority. Perhaps Allen, with his sandy hair and hazel eyes. But she was in no hurry to share her leadership role. And goodness knew, they had no need to bring more children into their group.
“Sir, ma’am, m’lady—it matters little to me, as long as you follow orders.” She sent him a pointed look, and everyone laughed.
“I know we don’t say it enough, but we are blessed to have you as a leader, Lady Merry.” Jane bit her lip, as if she should not express herself so, although Merry had never demanded such a high level of respect that the others could not share their thoughts at will. Old habits were hard to break, she supposed. To them she would ever be the local nobility, despite the fact her father had been officially stripped of title and lands before his execution—or as she preferred to call it, slaughter.
“Thank you for your kind sentiment, Jane, but back to the business at hand. We have a few weeks until someone shall have to venture into Wyndbury with a conspicuous gold coin to purchase supplies. During that time we must establish a story that shall allow us freedom to spend that coin.” Such bounty they now possessed, yet near impossible to spend. One wrong move could bring the law upon them.
“In Farthingale, giving presents to the villagers seemed our best strategy,” offered James. “Some venison steaks and a few of the pretty trinkets from our raids should do.”
“I have a thought.” Robert served as her tactical advisor. All eyes turned to him in anticipation. If Robert had an idea, every person in this room would be in for a wild romp.
Chapter 2
Robert paused for effect, and the room fell silent. “Remember the armor we stole from Black Stone Castle? I say we put it to good use an
d create a new hero, a charitable knight who rides about doing good deeds for the poor. Red would be the right size, and though I hate to admit it, he is a rather handsome lout. When he tries to spend gold coin in town, no one will question it.”
Merry pondered that. A new legend that might help them leave the Ghosts of Farthingale Forest back in Farthingale where they belonged. “A most excellent idea.” She patted her knees and examined Robert, a dark, wiry boy of sixteen with a thin, crooked nose, but clever as could be and, all things considered, quite attractive.
Ugh! Why must her mind always wander to such ridiculous notions. She was a leader, a warrior. No longer a noble lady free to dream of handsome barons’ sons she had met at tournaments and fairs. No, she must train her mind as she had trained her body. To be both tough and restrained.
She returned her considerations to Robert’s plan. “Despite the fact that Red is indeed a reasonably handsome lout, he should remain masked. We do not want anyone to recognize him if he is seen with one of us on a different occasion.” Yes, Red was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, but he was hardly noble looking.
Jane smiled at Red with admiration shining in her blue eyes, nonetheless. “And we shall need a romantic name for him.” She batted her lashes.
“No.” Allen shook his head. “Methinks not. He cannot go about calling himself by silly titles.”
“We could whisper it in the villages,” Merry said. “We are going to have to get them used to a few of us passing through.” She scanned her brain for names, but nothing suitable came to mind.
“I still say we should pass ourselves off as a band of traveling tumblers,” Cedric suggested with a shrug.
“No!” they shouted in unison. They had voted against his daft schemes—including tumblers, players, and worst of all, traveling minstrels—time and again. No one but Merry and Jane could even manage a musical instrument. And they could never afford to bring such notice to their band of thieves.
Robert tapped his forehead. “A name for our knight. It is coming to me. ’Tis almost here . . .”
His sister, Kate, gave him a little shove. “Oh, please, Robert. Think you that none of the rest of us can have a worthy idea?”
“Fine, then, what say you, Miss Kate?”
“Let’s keep it simple. The Masked Knight. Then no one shall expect to see his face.”
The council of elders looked at one another and nodded their approval.
“He shall need a horse,” said Allen.
“That can be arranged.” Merry supposed they could find a place away from camp to stable the noisy creature.
“Perhaps I’ll fight in a tournament as such.” Red grinned from ear to ear, obviously pleased with the idea and the title.
“You’ll never get in without official documents, but no doubt you’ll have the village girls swooning at your feet.” Robert would come no closer than that to agreeing with his sister.
But there it was again. The allusion to the inevitability of romance in the band’s not-so-far-off future.
One could not hold back change. If life had taught her anything, it had taught her that difficult lesson. But she could take better charge of her own thoughts and ambitions. Just as she had steeled her heart so many times before beginning a dangerous mission, she must steel her heart against love. She would put her band first and foremost. Focus upon being their leader and protector.
Lady Merry Ellison had no need of a man. Now or ever. She had not been able to rely upon her father, nor her brother. No, she could rely upon no one but herself.
“’Tis down this alleyway,” Allen whispered.
Allen, Merry, and Cedric moved through the streets of Wyndbury in dun-colored hooded cloaks, faces turned straight ahead and buried deep within the shadows of the rough flaxen cloth. They could have been any traveler. Any farmer hiding from the cool autumn winds. Any friar passing through town.
Anonymity was their ally.
Even so, Merry’s gaze darted about. She would let her marksman’s eyes miss no detail. Nor would she miss the cry of hawkers, air thick with the scent of manure and unwashed bodies. She must record every street, every alley, every twist and turn. Recall the market vendors with their faded awnings and mud-daubed shops. Study the thatched rooftops crowding in upon one another and the pathways they could provide. Someday she might have an important mission in this village. Someday she might be called upon to save her friends from the dungeon or worse.
Although she would rather forget the decomposing remains of criminals hanging from stakes on the town walls, along with their stench and all that they suggested, she would not. Rather, their warning would resound like a clanging cymbal within her for weeks to come. On every mission. Each time her men left camp.
Robert had stayed back in case this mission went amiss. And Red could no longer leave the forest without his “Masked Knight” disguise. Today it had been decided that only Merry, Allen, and Cedric would hazard the trip to town.
They rarely risked her on such public missions. No, she was a secret weapon, and her anonymity needed to be maintained at all costs. Peasants seldom traveled more than ten miles outside their villages in a lifetime, but any visiting nobleman might recognize the fallen Lady Merry Ellison.
Allen bumped his shoulder against hers as they passed a small doorway. The sign over top featured a rough painting of dried herbs along with a mortar and pestle.
Cedric stopped and leaned against the wall of the shop while Allen and Merry continued around the corner to an even narrower alleyway that skirted the side of the building. More of a muddy, stinking crack between the buildings than a proper alley. But Merry spied precisely what she needed.
Her heart clenched.
Another window. This one too far back to lead to the main shop. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she held a finger to her lips. Allen nodded. They ducked under the window. Merry alone peeked over the ledge and into the dark room. She could just make out the outline of shelves. From the sack on her back she pulled a candle and a piece of flint. Allen made short work of lighting it. She needed to see clearly, or all would be for naught.
As daughter of the castle, she had been instructed in basic healing and herbs. Only she could recognize the medicine needed to soothe Wren’s worsening cough. And only she could read any inscriptions upon the bottles with true accuracy. While inside she would stock up on herbal supplies for the winter. No need to risk a physician over this. Although Wren’s cough troubled them all and could easily grow out of control, Merry knew how to treat it.
She must succeed. Merry rubbed her trembling hands before taking the candle from Allen. She took deep calming breaths. Steadied her rapidly beating heart. The moment had come.
Merry whistled their signal and listened as Cedric entered the shop with a booming “Hullo there!” in a false accent.
Allen stood watch as she scrambled through the window. With all due haste, she snatched up bottles and supplies, found the remedies for Wren’s cough. But she could not locate the feverfew. Where was it? Surely they would need it come winter.
She paused for only a breath and listened as Cedric boomed out ridiculous questions to occupy the shopkeeper. She could afford a moment more. The feverfew must sit on the highest shelf beyond her reach. She tested her weight against the shelves to ensure they would not topple, then climbed up.
Yes! Victory! There it sat, along with other precious remedies. She crammed them into her sack. Snuffing out her candle, she stuffed it in as well, and slung the sack onto her back.
At that moment she heard the shopkeeper say, “Excuse me, please. I need to check my stock.”
“No need,” Cedric called.
But she could not await the shopkeeper’s reply and would not risk another second. In one neat move, Merry, light as a cat, hopped across the floor and somersaulted through the window onto the cold, damp alley.
Allen and she crouched into the shadows as they heard the shopkeeper shuffling through the shelves. “Hmm . . . that�
��s odd,” he said. “I could have sworn I had some right here. I don’t . . .” His voice trailed off.
Then as always, quickly as they had come, they were gone with nary a trace.
They rounded the corner, and Merry spied Cedric in the market square. But she did not rush her pace. No, hurrying drew eyes, attracted undo attention. She and Allen continued onward as if they had not a care.
Once in the marketplace, they sidled up to Cedric as he tested a shiny red apple for the proper degree of firmness. “Success?”
“Success,” Merry assured him.
“These sure are pretty. Wish we could buy us some.” Cedric brought the apple to his nose and took a whiff.
Merry could smell the sweet fruit well enough from where she stood. She lowered her voice. “If we had small coins we could have simply purchased the remedies.” Until they established Red’s Masked Knight story, they could not risk using the gold coins.
“But where would be the fun in that?” Cedric winked.
“Come.” Allen took a step toward the city gates. “Time to move along.”
Merry turned to join him, and as she did, a retinue of liveried horses trotted through the gates. In the lead rode a balding nobleman with a grey beard and an intimidating demeanor.
“That must be Lord Wyndemere,” whispered Allen, who had been involved in the most missions to town. “Just as the townspeople described him.”
As Lord Wyndemere passed by, Merry noticed the young man riding behind him. He turned as if he sensed her eyes upon him, but surely found nothing more exciting to meet his gaze than a band of muddy travelers.
But she had seen him.
And she would not be able to wash the image from her mind. A face she had wished never to encounter again. The familiarity of his features sliced through her, straight to her heart. His flaxen hair. His strong chin. His pale grey eyes. His full, soft lips.
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