Page 134 of Queen of Sherwood

Two tents. Only two. An unlit campfire lay ahead, ashen and smoky. It had only recently been put out, as the guards evidently went to sleep. I found it a bit odd there were no watchmen this far up on the hill. Perhaps they’re changing the guard. If that’s so, I have to act now.

One of the tents was bigger than the other. It was a four-post structure with high stakes keeping it upright.

Must be Sheriff George’s tent. He would give himself the biggest one, to compensate for everything else about him that is so small.

I flared my nostrils, breathing in a crisp blow of air across my face, and pulled my hood over my face. I stalked forward from the tree, low to the ground.

If he’s in there, alone . . . he’s a dead man.

My palms sweated, making the handle of my sword slick. Everything inside me was telling me to turn around, but I knew it was only my doubts and self-preservation gnawing at me.

I stuffed them down. This must be done. There can be no hesitation.

Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, I came to the back of the large tent. The tarp here was fortified with thick hide. I wouldn’t be able to cut my way in.

No, I had to go in through the front, like everybody else.

I stayed posted for a moment, waiting for any sound. Trying to listen for the odd leaf snap or heavy breath. Anything to tell me I was on the wrong path.

When a full minute passed and I grew impatient, hearing nothing, I slid forward into a shadow cast by the moon overhead.

I stayed alongside the tent wall, my back against the coarse fabric. Eyes on a swivel to the side. Passing the vacant campfire, I ducked and poked my head out into the small clearing between the two tents.

No one was here.

My brow furrowed.

Finally, a sound—

Bootsteps behind me.

With a sharp inhale, I twisted around—

As two soldiers rounded the back of the tent.

They sneered at me, wholly unsurprised.

I spun forward, cursing my luck, and bolted into the clearing. I needed to get into the front of the tent! Even if I died, I could still bring Sheriff George with me if he was sleeping.

Frantically, I rushed forward—

Nearly running chest-first into another guard near the front of the command tent.

I backpedaled, looking for a way out as the three soldiers approached in a unified front.

I was backing up toward the other tent now, the smaller one.

And a voice behind me, coming from the entrance of that tent, made my heart stop and my flesh break out in goosebumps.

“Look what we have here. If it isn’t a sneaky little mouse.”

Chapter 36

Alan a Dale

This sort of violent thing did not suit my talents whatsoever. I was not made for close-quarters, vicious combat. Sure, I put up with it, and handled myself nobly. Yet I hated it.

I had never felt completely comfortable with a sword or bow in my hand. Even a fucking dagger, really.

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