vulnerable as a newborn babe without the comforting weight of his longbow slung over his shoulder. Halting again, he grabbed Sparrow around the waist and, without delaying to ask, hoisted the squawking bundle onto a nearby branch.
“Up into the treetops you go,” he commanded. “You can move twice as fast through the branches, especially if you do not have me to hold you back.”
“What will you do?” Sparrow gasped.
“My legs are long enough to cover the same ground, only in a more earthbound fashion. Do not worry about me.”
“But the dogs—”
Gil wiped a hand across his brow and glanced back over his shoulder. “There is a wide stream up ahead. I will cut it down the middle until I have gone a ways to dilute the scent.”
“And you expect me to just leave you!” Sparrow sounded shocked—and hurt.
Because the little man was now on eye level with the taller forester, the latter could feel the clutch of fear in the gnarled, stubby hands as they grasped his shoulders.
“I will be all right, Puck,” he assured him. “We will meet up again at the fens in … an hour. In fact, a sovereign says I arrive there first, in plenty of time to cut and pare myself a new bow frame. Are you game?”
“’tis not a game, Gil,” Sparrow objected morosely.
“I know.” Golden reached out and ruffled Sparrow’s curly locks. “But I will best you just the same, so you had better put in a good effort, else have your coin waiting at the other end.”
With that and an extra tweak on Sparrow’s rump, Gil set off at an agile, loping gait that quickly carried him out of sight in the misty gloom. Sparrow sent an oath after him, and would have given chase except for a sudden, bowel-clenching burst of braying and howling that was far too close for lengthy debate.
Scrambling nimbly up to the highest branches, he swung from tree to tree, his heart pounding loudly and steadily within his chest. He kept his eyes trained on the ground as it rushed below, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of Gil running safely through the forest. Not even his keen eyes could see anything, and once or twice, the hot sting of tears almost caused him to misjudge the distance and angle between branches.
“God give you speed, my friend,” he whispered to the night air. “God give you speed.”
11
“God give me strength,” the Wolf snarled. “You did what?”
Gil and Sparrow, looking as if they had both been dredged through a thorn patch, figited guiltily, shifting their weight from one foot to the other while the Wolf showered accolades upon their intelligence.
“You left the abbey without consulting anyone; you crept within a few hundred paces of the enemy camp, then, without a thought or consideration for the consequences, proceeded to singlehandedly jeopardize all of our safety by throwing arrows at Nicolaa de la Haye?”
“She does not figure to be of any significance in your mission for the queen,” Gil said sullenly, then added in a hushed voice. “In truth … I only wanted to see her. When I heard Sigurd mention she had joined the Dragon’s camp, I …”
“Only wanted to see her,” the Wolf repeated belligerently. “And?”
“And …” The gleaming amber eyes lifted to meet his. “And I saw her. She was standing fifty yards away, a clear shot, bold as evil under the moonlight. I did not even realize I had fit an arrow to my bow, or raised the bow to my shoulder until the string was drawn and the arrow in flight.”
“You shot her.”
The crown of unruly red curls bowed again. “I shot at her. I missed.”
The Friar, perched quietly nearby as a casual witness to the proceedings, crooked an eyebrow. “You missed? A clear shot from fifty yards … and you missed!”
Gil reddened, for it was something that did not occur with any great frequency.
“She was not alone. Whoever was with her must have seen something and pushed her out of the way just as I loosed my arrow and … well … before I could notch and fire another, Sparrow flew down on me out of nowhere and—”
“Saved your crusty hide, no doubt,” the Wolf cut in bluntly. “Did they not give chase?”
“They tried, but we lost them. There was no harm done.”
“No harm,” Friar snorted.
“Except to the sheriff,” Sparrow chirped brightly, his smile fading almost instantly on a slanting glare from Gil.
“What about the sheriff?” the Wolf asked guardedly.