Sherwood Rogue

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Much!" I rode up to him, dismounting to give him a hug. Midnight nudged him and snorted, either saying hello or berating him for interrupting our practice. "When did you get back?"

"I've just come up from London. I haven't even been home yet."

"How did things go? How many did you find?"

"I found twenty-some myself. They said they would spread the news. I was lucky. I caught Robin at Huntingdon."

"You did? What did he say?"

"He wanted to know whose plan it was. When I told him it was yours, he asked how long we had. I told him I didn't know. Do you know how long we have, Kay?"

I evaded his question. "Things are going to start moving fast soon. I just hope we're prepared."

Much stroked Midnight's nose thoughtfully. "It's scary, Kay. I wish I knew what was going to happen."

I grasped his shoulder firmly, as much for my comfort as his.

"Me too, Much. Me, too." I took hold of Midnight's reins and we walked toward the stable. "Will won't be back today. Will you stay and sup with me?"

He grinned. "I was hoping you'd ask."

I smiled. "You can wash up, then you must tell me who you spoke to."

Much and I stayed up late into the night. He told me of those men who were known to be dead.

The widow's sons, all three of them, died in France fighting Richard's war. Robert of Lincoln and Richard Donaldson, too. Patrick of the Scots died of old age, as did Geoffrey of Warwick. Jack of Nottingham died of dysentery, John Ainsley was killed in a brawl in Blackpool, Caleb the Welshman was stabbed in the back in a dark alley in London. Seward of Gloucester, Ambrose's brother, died in a hunting accident some said was no accident, though no one was charged with murder. Alfred of Ely had disappeared and everyone assumed he was dead.

"He was always a strange one anyway," was Much's comment.

Twelve had died in the last four and a half years. Who knew how many more would not return when John became king. It was a sad total. More than we had lost in the forest during the years before the pardon. But I was working for the living. The dead were beyond any need of refuge.

Much also told me about those he knew were alive—those who had accepted the news of my plan and those who had turned a deaf ear.

***

WILL CAME BACK mid-morning the next day to find Much and I asleep in the conference room, the hall bustling outside our closed door. He woke us and sat with us as we ate breakfast. Brooding over the news Much had told me and my inability to take any action had curbed my appetite. I fidgeted, feeling like I was forgetting something. Something important.

Matthew came in to remind me I was supposed to run an errand before noon. Glad for the distraction, I told him to have my horse saddled and went to clean up while Will and Much talked.

My errand was to deliver some stock chickens to a landholder and his wife. A fox had broken into their coop. Half their chickens had run off, so they were in sore need of more laying hens. I took Paul, just to have him with me for a while. He was big enough to ride his pony, but I settled him in front of me and wrapped my arms around him. He didn't understand why, but seemed to understand my need to have him near me.

When we got back, it was time for lunch. Much ate with us, then left for Nottingham. A cold feeling settled in the pit of my stomach and didn't go away until dinner and five cups of ale were inside me. By then, I was well on my way to being roaring drunk.