A Daring Sacrifice (4 page)

In the darkness of the forest, with just the sliver of moon overhead, Thatch was mostly invisible. But I could feel his thin body shivering next to mine.

“Bulldog will be happy enough once I show him our loot,” I whispered back, pushing down the guilt that kept trying to surface.

I did indeed have remorse after evaluating what I'd done in my raid against Collin Goodrich. But only a twinge, and only because of the effect my rashness was having upon Thatch.

As a precaution, I hadn't dared start a fire. I didn't yet know if the new Lord Goodrich would send out a search party for us. I was waiting for the deep hours of the night, when the possibility of detection was slim.

Now Thatch was shuddering in the rapidly dropping temperatures of the fall night. The gurgle of his belly rose in the silent air, reminding me that we hadn't eaten all day either.

The guilt prodded me harder. We could have hidden on Goodrich land in relative ease—if I'd laid low, which was exactly what Bulldog had ordered me to do. And Thatch was
right. His dad was going to scold me upside and down for putting us in more danger.

But I hadn't been able to stop myself, especially when I'd caught sight of Collin Goodrich lagging behind the rest of his hunting party.

The opportunity had been too perfect, too easy, too fun to pass up.

Thatch shuddered again, his boney shoulder poking against my arm.

I shifted against the gnarled oak and tugged off my cloak. “Here. Cover yourself with this.” I tossed the cloak over him.

“No!” His voice was laced with horror, and he shoved the garment away. “I'm not a weakling.”

“You're freezing. And it's my fault.”

“I'm not that cold.” But even as he spoke, the words wobbled between his clattering teeth.

I pushed the heavy woolen garment back over him. “Don't make me tie you up.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Try me.”

His thin body stiffened. And I could picture the waves of emotions rippling across his freckled face as he debated whether I was serious enough to follow through with my threat.

I smiled, glad for the darkness that hid my humor.

“Fine,” he finally said, breathing out a heavy sigh. He knew me well enough to realize I didn't make idle threats. He squirmed for a moment as he adjusted my cloak over his limbs.

A breeze snaked through the thick branches overhead and rattled the dry leaves. It slithered around me and wound its way under my tunic, sending goose bumps up my back. I crossed my arms over my chest to ward off the cold. If anyone had to suffer for our current situation, I should be the one. Thatch certainly wasn't at fault.

In fact, he shouldn't have to suffer at all.

Deep anguish and anger rolled together in my chest, as it did whenever I thought of the unfairness of life for Thatch and the many others who'd been displaced from their homes because of Lord Wessex's high taxes and unfair laws.

My fingers groped for the coarse grain sack at my side, sliding over the lumps made by the few items inside. I found the small circular bump that I'd gone back to again and again.

Collin Goodrich's ring. He'd given me his ring.
Given
it to me.

I couldn't stop from picturing him as I had a hundred times since I'd robbed him that morning. Beneath his cap, his tousled hair had hung in unruly waves over his forehead, and it was the same blond he'd had as a young boy when I'd last seen him. His eyes were the same bright green that had stared at me when I'd been a small girl riding at my father's side.

But he wasn't a boy anymore. Not by any measure.

His features were but a shadow of the boy he'd once been; still as arrogantly handsome but in a much stronger, surer, and dashing way. He'd looked imposing atop his steed, his muscles rippling in his arms and beneath the tight linen of his breeches. I'd almost hesitated in my plans to jump on his horse.

But when he'd released a carefree whistle, I hadn't been able to resist. The liveliness of his tune, the jaunt of his head, and the leisureliness of his personhood had reminded me why I was living in the forest like a hunted animal.

It was because of rich noblemen like him that families were hiding, living in dirt hovels, and scrounging to find food to eat.

He'd deserved my attack. He wouldn't miss a single item I'd taken. And in the big cities and seaports, Bulldog would find his contacts, those who would gladly accept the jewels in exchange for necessities—such as heavier clothing and blankets
for my friends, hopefully enough to keep them warm through the looming days of winter.

I'd done nothing for which I needed to be ashamed.

Why then did my fingers keep straying to his ring? And why did that long-forgotten ghost of my conscience rise to taunt me? Why were there whispers urging me to find a better way to provide for all of the people who depended upon me?

I thought I'd buried my conscience the same day I'd buried the chopped remains of my father's tortured body, gathered after he'd been drawn and quartered.

The
whoo-whoo
of an owl echoed in the crisp night air, but besides that and Thatch's chattering, the night remained silent. My gaze swept the dark outlines around me, assessing the woods for any danger as I still tried to shake the feeling I'd done something wrong.

Yes, stealing was wrong. I knew that. But what other choice did we have? I'd discussed the options with Bulldog countless times. And the truth of the matter was that if we hoped to keep everyone alive, we had to break the law.

We were only taking back from Lord Wessex the excess he'd taken from us, we'd told ourselves. We wouldn't need to steal from him if he hadn't stolen from us first.

My fingers traced the outline of Collin's ring.

So why had I stolen from Collin? He hadn't taken anything from me.

“O Father in heaven,” I whispered, and buried my face into my hands. What was happening to me? Was I losing my sense of right and wrong completely? Was justifying my sins only leading me to slip further and further down a path toward more depravity?

Maybe I'd eventually end up being no better than Lord Wessex.

Was that what my father had feared? Was that why he'd remained so noble until the day he'd died?

Next to me, Thatch put a steadying hand upon my arm. “We'll be all right.”

I reached into the sack and let my fingers linger over the cold silver band. I traced the engraved lines that wrapped around a cross made from embedded diamonds. Then I slipped the ring over one of my slender fingers.

It was much too big and only made me think about Collin's hands, how thick and strong his fingers probably were. I shifted the ring to my thumb and wedged it there.

Should I return his belongings? Maybe at first light I could sneak close to the gatehouse of his castle and toss the bag to one of his guards.

And yet . . . I leaned my head back and stared through the branches overhead, branches that would soon be bare and covered with frost. Something within me stubbornly resisted the idea of humbling myself before him. I set my lips together in a firm line and pushed all thoughts of remorse away.

He'd laughed at me. Again.

Thinking of his laughter both now and in the past only made me lift my chin.

Of course, his laughter back when I'd been just a girl of five had caused me to react childishly, earning me a rare rebuke from my father. When my father and I had finally ridden away and I'd glanced back at Collin through my hot tears, he'd been wearing that same wide grin he'd flashed at me today. It had been the last time I'd seen Collin. I'd later heard he'd gone to live with the Duke of Rivenshire.

At least I'd handled myself better now. I'd controlled my anger, even though I'd been sorely tempted to shoot the smile from his face.

“What kind of man willingly gives thieves his jewels?” I muttered.

“A very wealthy man?” Thatch asked, pulling my cloak halfway over my arm and scooting closer to me.

“And what kind of man gives permission to rob him again?”

“A
very
, very wealthy man?”

“He's cocky and prideful and thinks he's God's gift to the world.”

At the barest crack of a branch behind us, I stiffened and fell silent. I dislodged Collin's ring and stuffed it into my pocket. Then my fingers slid to the knife that was sheathed at my waist. But instead of landing upon the carved handle, my fingers grasped at the air.

“My knife,” I whispered, slapping the ground and patting at the leaves and twigs. “Where did it go?”

Had it fallen out? But even as I entertained the thought, I cast it aside. My weapon was too embedded into its sheath to slip out without my being aware.

“Did you take my knife?” I started to rise, but before I could react a gloved hand circled around my face and closed over my mouth, cutting off my words and any chance I had at screaming.

“Yes, I did take your knife,” came a low voice near my ear.

I jerked against the hand, trying to free myself, but the grip was immovable. My captor was already hoisting me away from Thatch,

“I don't have my knife either,” Thatch called out. I could hear him fumbling in the dry leaves, crawling around in a frantic search. “And my bow and arrows are gone too.”

I kicked my captor's shins and tried to pummel him with my fists. But he clamped first one arm and then the other behind my back, effortlessly pinning them both. My mind shouted at me to do something—anything—to free myself.

In all the time I'd been hunted as the Cloaked Bandit, I'd never failed to get away from anyone. Sure, I'd been caught—like I had yesterday—but somehow I'd always managed to find a way to free myself. Or Bulldog had come to my rescue.

Even with my desperate kicking and jerking, my captor hauled me farther from Thatch, managing to slip through the thick brush as though a trail were emblazoned there.

Thatch's worried voice grew fainter. I prayed that in the blackness of the night, without his weapons, the boy wouldn't attempt to search for me, that he would stay with the horse and wait for the first light of morning to begin tracking me.

Unless I could free myself first.

I tried swinging my head to get a glimpse of my kidnapper, but the hand over my mouth made my head immovable.

Whoever had captured me was obviously a strong man. And my efforts to overpower him were doing little good, except to wear myself out.

Maybe I needed to try another tactic. If I cooperated, I could possibly get him to relax his hold. Then, at just the right moment, I might be able to break free and disappear into the woods.

I stopped struggling and let my body grow limp, even though every muscle urged me to keep fighting. After all, I was alone in a dark forest with a strange man. There was no telling who he was working for and where he was taking me. With a bounty on my head, there were any number of men who might be searching for me, hoping to bring me to Lord Wessex and earn a purse of silver.

But even with the slackening of my body, and even with my lack of resistance, my captor's hold over my mouth and arms didn't waver. He continued to force me to move backward, slowly but steadily.

Suddenly, all I could think was that this was it. He would lock me up in a dungeon somewhere and Thatch wouldn't be able to find me. Or even if my friend managed to track me, he'd be incapable of getting me out. And this time, Bulldog wouldn't be able to charge to my rescue. I'd have to rely upon my own ingenuity to escape.

Eventually, I would. I had no doubt about that. Even so, for the first time since my father died, I felt utterly alone. And I didn't like the feeling one bit.

Chapter
4

E
VEN THOUGH
I
HADN
'
T WANDERED THE FORESTS IN YEARS
, the layout and the trail paths came back to me, making me feel as if I were still that boy of seven who had roamed the woodlands, instead of a man of twenty.

Not even the darkness of the night had impeded my search. Of course I'd gone out earlier in the evening, while I still had light. And I'd easily discovered all I needed to know.

“Too bad you were so sloppy and didn't cover your tracks,” I said against the ear of my captive.

She'd finally stopped struggling, and I guessed she'd only done so to throw me off guard, to get me to release my grasp so that she could attempt an escape.

But I wasn't planning to discharge her until I discovered who she was and what she was doing on my land. She was obviously a fighter, but she'd learn soon enough that she was no match for me.

My backside bumped into the flank of my steed once I reached the narrow gorge where I'd left the beast. “I'm going to uncover your mouth,” I said. “But if you scream or make any loud noises, I'll have to take drastic measures to make sure you're quiet.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod.