“So, sister, what is it you’ve done to bring the king’s wrath down on you?” Little asked, gnawing thoughtfully on the remaining bits of meat still clinging to his turkey leg.
Isabelle’s stomach lurched. “What makes you think I’ve done anything?”
Little shrugged. “No one comes to the camp on a lark.”
Isabelle took another bite of the roasted pig, chewing slowly to consider the various answers to that question. Had he asked a few hours ago, she would have thought the answer far more simple; but the revelations from Thomas threw everything she thought she knew into confusion. She swallowed the meat, deciding on the easiest of the answers she could give.
“I shot a soldier off his horse,” she said.
Little perked up. “Go on, then, you did not! That’s bloody brilliant!”
Isabelle winced. “It did not feel brilliant at the time. I only meant to spook the horse, but the fool pulled his reins at the last minute and the horse reared, and the arrow caught him right in the shoulder, just between the armor.”
Little gave a boisterous laugh that drew the attention of half the clearing, and Isabelle sank down behind the carcass of the suckling pig. “Oh, I bet he screamed like a bloody girl. They always do.”
“Always?” Isabelle lifted her brows. “Do you make a habit of shooting soldiers?”
“We’re the Merry Men, sister. It’s part of the job.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” said a wry voice edged in an Irish accent. A young boy no taller than Isabelle plopped down in a vacant spot across from them, his smile open and welcoming. “He’s never shot a man in his life. All those long limbs, wasted on bad aim.”
“I shoot all right,” Little said, looking upward in contemplation. “If it’s the broad side of a barn you’re aiming for.”
The boy laughed. “Your strength lies in the staff, Little.” He looked to Isabelle with a serious expression. “The Almighty help the man who gets close enough to test it.”
“I am not sure the Almighty concerns himself with the petty nature of men fighting,” Isabelle replied. “He is, after all, a just God. I would think he supposes if one were to take up such a challenge, one would deserve such a thrashing.”
The boy laughed. “You sound like Father Donnell, my old tutor, whenever I found myself on the thrashed end of a scuffle. Welcome to Sherwood. I’m Patrick.”
Isabelle nodded in greeting, taken aback by the easy camaraderie in his tone. Were all the outlaws so friendly? “Isabelle.”
Little leaned forward gleefully. “The sister here was just telling me how she shot a soldier off his horse.”
Patrick looked to her in surprise. “You’re a sister?”
She matched his look. “That was the most astonishing part of what he said to you?”
“There you are,” came Thomas’s voice from the crowd. He threaded through the outlaws, Adam close behind, bearing down on her like an angry bull and thrusting one accusing finger at her. “You were supposed to stay put.”
“I did,” Isabelle protested, her voice pitching up in an effort to cover her guilt. “But you were gone so long I was afraid something might have happened to you. And then I heard something, and I thought it might be you—”
“Even though you didn’t hear the signal,” Thomas interjected. “Which I told you to listen for.”
“Well, yes, but I thought you might have forgotten. Or maybe you could not give the signal because you were in danger.”
Thomas crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at her. “And so you thought the best idea was to leave the safety of the tunnel and put yourself at risk as well?”
“No!” Isabelle fumbled with the heel of a loaf of bread. “I mean, that was not my intention at the time.”
Thomas blustered through a curse as Little let out a booming laugh. “A sister after my own heart.”
“I am not actually a sister,” Isabelle said reflexively, staring at the table.
“That’s enough, Little,” said another forester, stepping forward beside Thomas. He towered over the barkeep by at least a head, and considering the sharp slope of his nose and the red tint to his hair, she guessed he must be Allan A’Dale. “Don’t you boys have some cleaning to do?”
“Cleaning?” Little snorted. “Since when have we cleaned—”
“Since now,” Allan said, in a tone that brooked no refusal. He turned his stern expression on Patrick. “I trust you will keep my son out of trouble?”
“Sure,” Patrick said, looking not at all sure, and hopped up from his seat. “Uh, why don’t we see about clearing the tables down there, Little?”
“Clearing tables?” Little stood up, shaking his head. “We’re bloody outlaws, not maids. Next you know he’ll be asking us to wash our own laundry. Then what would my mum do?”
His protests trailed off as Patrick led him away, and Isabelle somehow felt more exposed without the two of them there. Allan turned his attention to her, his expression grave if not unkind. “I understand you have need of the Merry Men, lass.”
Isabelle straightened, her mouth going dry as her stomach threatened to eject the bounty of food she had just shoved in it. There was so much she wanted to say, to ask, that she could only manage a simple “Yes.” She glanced at Thomas, unsure of what she could reveal. “I have a message for Robin. Robin Hood.”
“Small trouble there,” Allan said, looking apologetically to Thomas and back to her. “He’s not here.”
He truly is real, Isabelle thought, at the same time that Thomas gave a curse.
“Where’s he bloody gone this time?” the barkeep demanded.
“North,” Allan said apologetically. “To York, to talk with Tuck. He thinks King John will go back on the charter he signed at Runnymede, which means the country is headed for war. And if there’s a war between the king and the rebel barons, we all suffer. Robin’s hoping Tuck might be able to talk some sense into the rebel barons.”
“Of course he is,” Thomas grunted. “When’s he due back?”
Allan shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not sure. He said, and I quote, ‘Diplomacy is a snail’s race.’ I took that to mean it might be a while before he returned.”
“Bloody hell,” Thomas said, glancing at Isabelle. “This can’t wait. Can you get a messenger up there to him?”
“’Course I can,” Allan said.
“I could go tonight,” Adam offered. “Wouldn’t take me more than a week.”
Isabelle stood up. “And I shall go with you.”
“No,” the three men said simultaneously.
Allan tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’d tell you to take Little with you, but that might be more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Excuse me!” Isabelle said, indignant at being so summarily dismissed.
“You’ll stay here, lass,” said Thomas, patting her on the shoulder. “Safer that way.”
“We could cut through the forest to Lincoln, take the king’s road from there,” Adam said. “It’s a risk, but it’s the fastest route.”