Page 44

Grace retreated.

If James wasn’t at home and wasn’t in the square, where would he go?

She could only think of one place: the maple grove.

She winced, wondering if the man could be that stupid. Everyone knew from the stories that the Rogue would hide in Sherwood Forest. It was the first place the patrol would search. If he wasn’t gone by the time they entered, James’s noisy steps would draw a half dozen men his way.

She had to go looking for him.

It was madness, she knew. She could be caught as well, but at least she was trained. She couldn’t abandon James to his death.

So, pulling her riding cloak tighter about her, she slipped back up the path to her home and turned to follow it past Craftsman Ridge, carefully avoiding being seen crossing the main road leading into the square. The pasture between the ridge and the forest had a fence she could run alongside and possibly blend into in some amount, thanks to her brown cloak.

She was preparing to run when she saw a few figures stalking toward the forest from the direction of town square—the beginnings of the patrol. It was only a couple of them, and the procession was inconsistent, with gaps in their movement toward the forest.

Grace watched, waiting for a long break.

There—no one seemed to be coming.

She dashed.

Her senses heightened: eyes searched the edge of the forest for movement, ears strained to hear footfalls. Instead, she heard the swish of her own skirts. The faint noise seemed deafening in the relative silence, and suddenly all she could hear was the rustling of her clothing, the panting of her breath, the impact of her shoes against dust and dirt.

Warnings swarmed her mind. She was being too loud. She was too exposed.

Grace pushed on anyway. She’d trained with her father and mother for this, even if they didn’t believe in her.

Dust gave way to leaf-strewn ground, and seconds later, Grace was engulfed in the safety of shadow once more.

She leaned against the trunk of an oak and tried to calm her breathing. Prodded on by both her sprint and her fear, her heart raced.

The snap of a branch sent Grace scrambling up into the branches of the oak. She pressed tight against the bark, only shifting to verify the brown cloak concealed her hair.

Was this the Rogue or a patrolman? It could be either, really.

Her fear for James flared. He was going to get himself killed.

Minutes passed without close sounds of movement, though she did hear signs of the patrolmen in the distance.

She had to move now. The longer she waited, the more likely she was to run into someone she didn’t want to see.

Rather than descending, Grace searched the tree tops for branches near enough to leap between. Sherwood forest was old and thick enough to provide ample sturdy limbs to traverse large stretches that way. She had never done so without a verdure cloak, but she was practiced enough and the dangers below great enough that she decided to risk it. Patrols may not be as quick to search above. It could give her an advantage.

Grace leapt across the forest, pausing now and then to catch her breath or to listen. Each time, the patrol was still too far to cause immediate concern. So long as she remained stealthy, she still had a chance of getting James out unscathed.

As she entered the grove, she released a heavy breath. These trees, with their sweet aroma and leaves just starting to turn red, now held a sense of safety for Grace.

But she couldn’t let that fool her—she was in danger. James was in danger.

She scanned the trees, eyes straining for the shimmer of the verdure cloak. Halfway through her search, a chorus of branches snapped to her right.

“I heard something over here!”

The gruff shout knocked the breath from Grace. Someone was close, someone other than the Rogue. She hugged the trunk of the maple she stood in.

Not two seconds later, a patrolman thudded into the clearing. He examined the area and, finding nothing, let out a growl of frustration. He took a stick from his belt and thudded it against Grace’s tree trunk in anger. She clung to the branches, praying the angry man didn’t look up.

From the corner of her eye, Grace saw a flicker of movement. Moving her head as slowly as she could manage so as not to draw attention, she gazed at the branches of a neighboring tree. A translucent shimmer rippled above the branches.