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And I would die.
All so hauntingly simple, and somehow comforting.
Maybe this was how knights felt on the eve of battle.
Then I corrected myself with a little smile. Marian could save herself, but I would lay the groundwork for her to fight her way out of Nottingham. I would fight at her side, and when the make-or-break moment arrived, I would take it.
I grinned, realizing that was my ace. Having made up my mind to die, I had an edge over every other soldier on the battlefield. Whether it was a flying arrow or a swinging sword that rushed at me, I wouldn’t think like a person who hoped to survive. I would take it, gladly, as long it ensured survival for the woman I loved.
And, hey. Maybe the Merry Men would sing songs about me someday. Maybe every year on the anniversary of the eve of Saint Matthias, Marian would shed a few tears and light a candle for me.
A lump formed in my throat at that one, but I suppose that came with brave knight territory. For the remaining eighteen hours of my life — plus or, more likely, minus — I could cast the frustrated monk aside and bask in the bold, bright light filling my soul now.
“Uh, Tuck?” someone elbowed me.
I blinked and found John studying me quietly. Too quietly, with pinched lips that said he knew where my calm had come from.
Then he gripped my arm — hard, like a man tugging a stubborn mule in the opposite direction — and murmured, “There’s always a way.”
If he meant hope, I had plenty. But only for Marian.
“And it all starts with a solid plan,” John continued.
I nodded cheerily, because I already had one.
He shook his head slightly. “A plan made by someone much, much smarter than you or me.”
I frowned at that, because Robynne wasn’t here to counsel us. Neither was Marian.
John waggled his eyebrows and slid his eyes to Willa.
At that exact moment, she stuck up her hands and hollered, “Quiet, everyone! I’m thinking.”
A hush fell over the men, and even a full minute later, when Robert scratched his head and murmured something, the men elbowed him.
“Shush! She’s thinking!”
Even the dogs leaned in, watching Willa sketch on the ground slowly, then faster. And faster still, until we could practically cup the anticipation in the air with our hands and hold it.
Even then, Willa kept her head down and that stick steadily moving. Nosewise sat at her feet, drooling in reverent silence.
It was only many minutes later that Willa stepped back, considered the sketch, and nodded to herself. Then she took a deep breath and motioned everyone closer.
“All right, everyone. Here’s the plan. Listen closely.”
We did, and I had to hand it to her. It was brilliant.
Step by step, she worked her way through it as if looking through time and telling a story backward.
“In order to free Robynne, we have to do this… And for that to happen, we have to set this up first…” Willa’s voice rose and fell.
Never, ever had the Merry Men listened so intently.
She went on in that vein for a while, then took a deep breath and concluded.
“And for all that to happen, we need to start with one thing. The choir of Winslow Abbey.”
My hopes sank like a stone, and I raised a hand sadly. “Just one catch. There is no choir at Winslow Abbey.”
