Scarlet

“You lost everything you had, Scarlet. No one could judge you no matter how you reacted.”

“It were worse than letting her die. I left her alone.”

“Where did you go?”

I wiped my eyes. “Church. I sat there and cried and all the saints were fair glaring at me and it were raining something awful. A candle knocked over and a bit of the wall caught fire. I put it out, but I ran. I couldn’t do nothing but run. I figured it were a sign from God that I weren’t welcome nowhere on earth. So when I saw you, it seemed like another sign.” I shook my head, and more water ran out. “But then you didn’t let me die. You made me come with you, and you made me watch how many other people were hurting, and you make me fail every day when I can’t fix it.”

He were quiet for a long stretch. “Do you still want to die, Scar?”

I shut my eyes. “Don’t know,” I whispered. “Sometimes I don’t see much worth living for. Sometimes I think I’m a curse on everyone because I live so contrary, and give the Church stolen money, and break most of the Lord’s laws. But as long as the Lord’s giving me a chance to ’tone for what I done, I’ll take it.” I sniffed, rubbing my face on my sleeve. “You know ’bout me going to church?”

He nodded. “I saw you there.”

I looked at him. “Thought you didn’t go to Mass.”

“I don’t.” He shifted round, and his voice got quiet. “I wish I could. I followed you there once, hoping maybe if you were there I could go in. As much as I desperately want forgiveness, God’s not offering it at the moment.” He swallowed, and it pushed the bulge in his throat out. “Why do you wear a dress?”

“Can’t lie to God.”

“You’re not lying, Scar. You are who you are. God knows you in skirts or breeks.” He shook his head. “The good and the bad, unfortunately.”

I shrugged. “Always feels wrong.”

He leaned forward a little, shifting on the branch, to rub his thumb under my eyes and pull off the tears. “When did Gisbourne give you the scar?”

“Years ago. He caught me and Joanna running from our home and he pushed a knife in my face. I said he’d never use it on me, so he did.”

“Bastard. To cut a girl, and you must have been just a little one at that.”

“Thirteen,” I countered. “Two days before fourteen. I weren’t so little.”

“It’s strange. It sounds so young, but most noblewomen are betrothed at fourteen. Some even wed, though traditionally they wait till fifteen.”

I swallowed a hard lump. “Heard that.” I raised my eyes to him, my strange eyes, and for the first time, I wished that I would blaze in his mind. Truth were, I’d met Rob. Before Gisbourne cut me and before Joanna and I ran to London, I’d met Rob—just once, not for long. When I saw him in the marketplace that awful day after Joanna died, knowing he were a lord, it felt like a gift. I’d known him straight off—but in all the time then and since, he’d never remembered my long-ago self.

“So you know, Scar, I don’t want you going anywhere. And I’m sorry about the Morgans. That was cruel.”

“I don’t mean to run,” I said, ducking my head down. “Just sometimes I feel like everything will come out, like a bleeding slice, and . . .” I shrugged.

“I know. But no matter how you bleed, we’ll patch you up. Just trust us.”

I nodded.

“Will you come down with me?”

“I’ll just stay up here. Hurt my shoulder enough to get up; I’ll let it rest a bit.”

He took my arm. “Christ, I forgot about that. Come on, get on my back. I’ll carry you down.”

It did hurt a fair bit, and with all the waterworks I felt tired and weak. Still, I shook my head. I think I’d rather tumble my way to the ground than scrabble on his back like a monkey—or worse, like some tot of a child.

He frowned but didn’t force it, and he climbed ’longside me down the tree. When we touched ground, John called me to sit by him. I gave Rob a bare glance and went, sitting near John. He passed me some soup and moved closer to do it, putting his arm round me. Part of me squirmed a bit, like it weren’t quite right, but most of me were just glad for a warm arm and warm side and warm soup.

“The soup should go down pretty easy,” John told me soft. I nodded, and he squeezed my hand a bit. “Sorry about the Morgans.”

Taking a sip of the soup, I felt like pushing his arm off, felt like climbing back into the tree and pulling Rob up there with me, staying there and graining into the wood.

I caught Rob looking at us, but soon as I looked up, he went to Much without looking at me again.

Chapter Twelve

The days started drawing on faster. We spent them training and working the road, collecting as much as we could in coin. It were coming in quick enough. During the nights, we hunted the king’s forest and we gave out the meat, but in almost two weeks, six people got nabbed, and we knew it would be worse come tax day.

Gisbourne weren’t killing them, which were good and bad at the same time. Good that they weren’t dead, but bad that they were all in the prison still. I knew he had the castle trussed up like a fortress; even during the day, people couldn’t come and go anymore. If we were going to break them out, it would have to be all at once, and we wanted to wait till hanging day. Or hanging night, I suppose, because hanging morning wouldn’t do anyone much good.

My shoulder healed up; it only hurt if I hit it. Which were good—when my shoulder hurt, it made climbing tough, and these days I found myself up in the trees more. Gisbourne couldn’t go where I went, and it were the only thing made me feel safer.

I swung down from the archway onto the road. The travelers had passed, and John tossed me the large bag of coin he lifted from one of the lords. “Awful heavy, Scar. Good spot.”

Shaking them, I listened to the rattle like soft rain. “Sweetest sound there is.” I tossed it to Much as Rob and I started picking up the jewels and weapons. Rob and I grabbed for the same sword and our eyes crossed looks.

I pulled back, letting him have at it.

John grabbed at one of the swords, pointing it toward me. “Come on, Scar, feel like a fight?” he asked. Then he saw a dagger and we both jumped for it.

His hand nicked it a hair before mine and John lifted it high above his head. “You want this, Scar?” He swung the dagger back and forth.