He led her away from the clearing toward a small stand of trees with several trunks cut to low stumps, perfect for sitting. The camp, so lively and full of noise, was like an upside-down world from the priory, where she was used to the muted snoring of the sisters and the quiet rustling of night beyond the dormitory. Little bonfires twinkled throughout the trees, keeping the late-autumn chill at bay, and the houses overhead flickered with lamplight and movement. It lent a magical glow to the trees, dispelling the intimidating shadows she’d faced earlier.
“It’s only fair you know what you’re walking into,” Thomas said. “I don’t know the whole of it, mind you. The nobility tie themselves up in all kinds of rules that don’t concern me. But your da has told me enough about the man hunting you.”
“You mean the Wolf,” Isabelle said, heart pounding at the mention of the mystery man.
“Aye, the Wolf.” Thomas made a face as if pronouncing the name left a foul taste in his mouth.
“Who is he?” Isabelle asked, not sure she really wanted the answer.
“You’d know him by the name of Sir Roger of Doncaster.”
“Sir Roger…” She studied the pattern of the fallen leaves on the ground, chasing a faint memory. “I feel as if I have heard the name before.”
“I should think so, considering he’s the king’s right-hand man.”
And then it came to her, draining the blood from her face and gripping her chest so that she could not breathe. A name only spoken in hushed tones by the townspeople of Kirklees, quickly smothered under bowed heads and hasty hands. A name even the soldiers who locked her up spoke with reverence, no trace of their previous arrogance on display.
“Sir Roger,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper, her head spinning.
“Most powerful man in the country, second only to the king,” Thomas said gravely. “The most powerful if you ask the right people. Nothing happens Sir Roger don’t know about. Even John’s afraid of him, and that fool don’t have the sense to be afraid of much. Sir Roger has earned himself a reputation for carrying out the king’s dirty business these past twenty years.”
“But what could he possibly want with me?” Isabelle asked, her gaze skittering over the surrounding trees as if they might come alive with soldiers at any moment.
“It’s not to do with you, lass,” Thomas said sadly. “Your da, Robin, he made a powerful enemy in the king back when John was just a prince lusting after his brother’s throne.”
“How could Robin have made an enemy of John?” Isabelle asked. “What happened?”
Thomas scratched at his beard. “That’s where my know-how gets a bit fuzzy, lass. Far as I could understand it, Robin was some hoity toity fella in the nobility back in his youth. John thought your da was a threat to his campaign against Richard the Lionheart, so he sent the Wolf to take care of it.”
“Take care of it?” The earth moved unsteadily beneath Isabelle’s boots. “Do you mean—”
Thomas sliced a hand across his throat, clicking his tongue in a crude approximation of an ax strike. “He was supposed to kill your da and your ma, and you still in your ma’s belly. Thought he got the job done, too, didn’t he? Only they escaped.”
“I do not understand,” Isabelle said, shaking her head. “Why did my mother not tell me any of this before? How could my father just leave us in that place, and come here to play at…what? Being an outlaw? Why not come back for us? For me?”
Thomas shrugged. “You’d have to ask him that yourself. But what I do know is there’s old blood between Sir Roger and your da. Bad blood. It’s him Robin’s been outrunning these past sixteen years, hoping this day would never come. But if it has—if the Wolf has found out Robin’s still alive—nothing will stop him now. He’ll have every tin head from here to York hunting you.”
Isabelle’s head swayed, and she braced both hands against the tree trunk to keep from falling. How had her life turned so inside out in a matter of days? All because she shot that stupid arrow.
“I should have stayed in the priory as Mother told me,” she whispered. “She was trying to protect me, and I was too selfish to see it. I just wanted to help, and now I’ve made everything worse. I’m such a fool.”
“You’re not a fool, girl,” Thomas said quietly. “You’ve the impatience of youth on you. You can make a better choice now and stay. You’re safer here in Sherwood surrounded by the Merry Men than you will be out there.”
But she’d already seen what the Wolf’s forces did to people who got in the way of what they wanted. She’d stood between the soldiers and the townspeople, the only thing that stopped them from trampling innocent people beneath their horses’ hooves. She couldn’t put these people at risk, even if they were the famed Merry Men. She shook her head resolutely.
“I will go,” she said. “I will find Robin.”
“If you win,” Adam said from behind them.
Isabelle turned around to face the young outlaw leaning against a tree, a ghost of a smile across his face. He was so at home in the wilderness, his eyes gleaming like a nocturnal hunter. Her heart started its hammering again, racing for a different reason at the sight of him. He seemed to sense the catch in her breath because his smile widened slightly, bringing more warmth to the cool night air.
“We’re ready for you, sister,” he said.
She nodded, a soothing numbness falling over her as her body went through the motions of following Adam around the camp, past the remains of the feast to a long stretch of open field with three targets set up at varying distances, their centers lost in the murky darkness of predawn. The carousing outlaws had abandoned their feast for a greater entertainment, clustered around the edges of the shooting range. They cheered when they saw her, the naive challenger. Allan A’Dale stood before them, raising his long arms to the sky.
“Merry Men of Sherwood,” he called, “there is one among us who wishes to join the notorious ranks of the fellows of Robin Hood!”
Several more cheers peppered through the crowd at that.
“Does it have to be such a spectacle?” Isabelle muttered.
Adam looked down at her, amused. “You haven’t met Robin. This is subtle.”
The comment stung for reasons she couldn’t properly rationalize, and so she hunched her shoulders as Allan continued.
“As you know, no man or woman, however desperate their plight, can wear the Lincoln greens without earning them. This lass, Isabelle of Kirklees, has challenged for a place among the Merry Men! Only by defeating our champion at a shooting competition will she earn her place and deserve the title of true outlaw.”
As the outlaws cheered, some shouting bets among them, Allan A’Dale held an arm out, calling her forward. After a brief moment, Adam set his hand on the small of her back, giving her a little push.
“Go on, then, sister,” he whispered against her ear. “Show us what you’ve got.”
“Now, Isabelle, as the challenger, you have first choice of bow,” Allan said, sweeping his hand to the side to indicate a rack full of bows. He gave her a wink. “Choose wisely, lass.”