My hand set to aching besides. It hadn’t been bad; I kept it out from the blankets so it never got too warm, and that had worked for the first two rounds. By the end of the third, I were breathing harder and could bare sit still as the pain mounted.
The third round narrowed to Rob and Gisbourne, and as the crowd cheered and jumped and waved, there were only one still body in the lot, and he were looking at me. Allan nodded slowly and my heart jumped.
The horn sounded, and I leapt from my chair. Skirting wide around the bonfires, I moved quick to get to the stands and through the crowd. The people swallowed me up, bodies pressing and pushing on every side, and I yelped as someone knocked into my hurt hand. The fellow turned and gave me a dirty look.
A big body stepped in front of my path, and a warm arm came around my shoulders. “Need a hand?” Much asked, keeping me behind the shield of John’s back.
He raised his stump with a grin and I frowned. “Terrible humor, Much.”
He shrugged, his grin fixed still. “Nobody thinks I’m very funny.”
John started moving, forcing people out of the way like a wave. “I need to find Allan,” I told Much.
“I know. He was asking for you.”
“Did you find anything?” I asked him. “Did he?”
“Find anything about what?” John asked.
“I asked the monks,” Much said. “They remember when Leaford announced his second child, but they didn’t attend lady Leaford.”
“Had they for Joanna?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s this about?” John asked. “What about your parents?”
I sighed and shook my head, and John craned round to glimpse me do it. “I’ll tell you later, John,” Much said.
John scowled. “Just because I’m out doesn’t mean I want to be kept out,” he grumbled.
“Allan!” I yelled, seeing the red of his hat. It ducked and bobbed and reappeared a moment later by me.
“My lady thief,” he said, taking my good hand and kissing it. His eyes fell on my arm, tucked in the sling, and his head lowered. “Yesterday—I didn’t know what had happened.”
John looked at me, fury clouding over his mug.
“John, it’s done,” I said quick. “You don’t need to fuss.”
“What happened, Scar?”
My shoulders lifted. “The prince punished me,” I said, trying to say it like it were nothing. “He cut off two of my fingers.”
“Your—” His nostrils flared and he turned away from me, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground.
I stared at his back for a long moment before looking to Allan. “What word, Allan?”
“About your parents, none.”
“Allan! Why—” I started, but he shook his head.
“They switched the arrows.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Who switched them?”
“Rob’s arrows?”
“For this round?” John, Much, and I all spoke at once.
“The prince’s men.” Allan looked at me, answering my question. “I don’t know what they did, but Gisbourne has the same arrows he did for the last three rounds. Robin’s are different.”
“So?” John asked. I scowled at him, but he shrugged. “Bow’s not really my weapon, is it?”
“If the spine is even slightly different, it will be damn near impossible for Rob to get a perfect shot, which he’ll need. And Gisbourne will win, and it will be very hard to prove they cheated,” Much explained.
“Like the prince would do anything about a cheat he helped with,” John grunted, half turning back to us. His eyes fell on my hand and his shoulders rolled.
The horn sounded and I whipped my head over to see pages walking onto the field with the arrows, filling two of the standing quivers. Rob and Gisbourne set out onto the field, walking toward the marks.
“Allan, please tell me you’re better at sneaking than wagging your chin,” I said, nodding him forward and pushing through the crowd to the edge.
“Scarlet, what are you doing?” John yelled.
“John,” I said, turning to him. “Stay here—we have to switch the arrows back.” He stepped forward, but I shook my head. “You’re one of the people we protect now. And that’s a good thing.”
He looked at me, and he looked less sure and cocky than I’d ever known him. He nodded once, and I took off.
The first steps jangled pain through my hand and stole my breath, but I kept moving, desperate to get to them before a shot were flown. My dress and cloak dragged over the snow like a horse’s harness, hauling me backward, but I kept going, Allan keeping pace at my side. We weren’t close. We weren’t going to make it.
The herald raised his horn and I cut onto the field, running through the snow.
My head and hand were pulsing. My feet were awful heavy to lift and I were going slower.
Slower still. I twisted my arm out from the sling—I couldn’t much run like that, hobbled by the awkward weight on my chest.
“Scarlet!” Allan yelled. Had he stopped running with me?