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CHAPTER FOUR

Ellery

My foot hit the ground as I edged away from the window before anyone looked up and saw me. I retreated to my bed while I frantically searched for an answer as to where to hide my dirty, ripped, muddy clothes, but I still couldn’t think of anything.

The sheriff and his men wouldn’t leave a single inch of our home unexplored. They’d tear it apart, and in doing so, they would find them.

Voices drifted up from below as they entered the foyer. My mother’s higher-pitched voice was more distinguishable from the lower tenors of the guards who’d entered, but I couldn’t make out her words.

I had only a minute, maybe two, before they were at my door. I closed my eyes before opening them and looking down at the baggy pair of pants I wore to work the farm.

An idea erupted through my skull with such intensity I thought something might have burst in my brain as white lights exploded across it before fading. With jerky movements, I kicked off my boots, removed my belt, and undid the buttons on my pants before pulling them off.

Keeping my ears tuned to the men still downstairs but moving closer, I tugged on my ruined pair of pants, grabbed the belt, and slid it through the loops since the button on them was gone. I cinched the belt around my waist and pulled my work pants over them.

I rushed over to my floor-length mirror to examine myself. With a critical eye, I examined myself, but I saw no hint of the snugger-fitting black pants beneath my brown ones.

The dirt covering my knees and thighs from where I’d knelt on the ground and where I’d wiped the dirt from the field off my hands would mask the scent of dirt on the pants below. A quick sniff of the air alerted me to the coppery tang of Ryker’s blood on the black pants.

They would smell it too.

Frantic for a way to cover it, my hand went to the dagger at my side before I hurried over to my bedroom door and pressed my ear against it. The voices were still below but coming closer.

They must be on the stairs.

That possibility propelled me forward. Opening my door, I peeked my head out, but the hallway remained clear. The approaching shadows on the wall told me it wouldn’t stay that way.

I quietly closed the door and retreated to my bathroom. Standing over the sink, I didn’t stop to think about it before drawing the dagger across my palm. Blood seeped across my skin as it dripped into the sink.

Fisting my hand, I brought it to my pants and let blood trickle down the cloth; it absorbed the blood like a thirsty plant drinking the rain. I placed my hand to my belly and knotted it in the fabric to show I’d used it to staunch the flow. It would also explain why no other blood marred our home.

Pulling my hand out of my shirt, I wrapped the cloth swiftly around it, tied a knot with my teeth, and washed the blood from the sink. I placed my dagger back in its sheath and lifted my gaze to the mirror.

The freckles across my nose stood out starkly against my abnormally pale skin. I looked harried, and dirt streaked my cheeks, but I didn’t look overly frazzled, even though I felt like I had GUILTY stamped on my forehead.

I smoothed some loose strands of hair away from my face before throwing my shoulders back and leaving the bathroom. Without hesitating, I crossed to my bedroom door and stepped into the hallway.

The sheriff and two of his men stood at the top of the stairs. Others were already in one of the guest rooms, as the door was open.

Sheriff Samael’s yellow-brown eyes met mine before they raked over me and latched on to my bandaged hand. “How did you do that?”

I lifted it as if I’d forgotten about it. “Oh, this, I was opening a bale of hay, and the knife slipped.”

There was a time when I’d been a horrible liar, but becoming the Hooded Robber and having to keep my identity hidden had changed all that. Now, the lie rolled off my tongue as smoothly as the truth.

One had to become a good liar when one’s life was at stake.