Chapter 1

The sound of three sets hoof-beats suddenly stirred me from my reverie. I glanced back at Father, whose eyes now held a barely contained panic that he was trying to govern, I could tell, for my sake.

"Go into the back room! " Father immediately whispered, rounding his face to mine. "Close the secret door and keep very quiet. He doesn't know you're back and the last thing we need is another occupancy tax levied on our dwelling. Hurry," he said gently, handing me a gray woolen shawl. "Wrap up in this, it's cold back there. Andfor God's sake, don't make a sound." The last was said with quiet desperation and a brief, loving glance.

I immediately understood. The back room was a kind of secret room Father had built for Mother to do washing and flower drying in, and to store goods for the black market. When growing up as a child, my friends and I had played in it and often made Mother laugh with our attempts to fly in and out of the small door the fastest and without incident. Father had built to door conceal like a puzzle piece when fit into the back wall, and nothing in the construction of the house gave away its presence, for there was only one very high window that let in a bit of sunlight, and made the room pleasantly warm in the spring and summer. Remembering the trick of this, I pushed against the small cutout of wood and scurried through the back cubby, pulling the hatch back into place as I slid through the small door. When I was a child, I thought nothing of throwing myself through it, sometimes landing upon a soft pile of clothing Mother had washed, other times, scraping my knees badly on bare floor. This time it was the latter. I gritted my teeth as the green linen of my dress made a small ripping sound, but managed to balance myself in time not to fall. Father had been right; the room was barely above freezing because of the draft from the back door he had yet to fix. I nearly coughed in the chill air, and squatted down in a corner, as if somehow this would hide me, feeling it was in the nick of time.

The front door banged open unceremoniously. I then easily heard two sets of heavy footsteps. Armed guards, they sounded like, with clinking mail and brusque voices, immediately ordering Father to sit and wait for the third of their party. I could feel Father's panic rising as he sat, and couldn't help myself. I peered through the very slight opening in the wall to see what was happening. While I couldn't see the door, I saw a long shadow fall over the wall, alerting me to the fact that a third party now entered the house. These footsteps, however, were as silent and balanced as those of a cat stalking a mouse. I heard no armor as their owner moved through the room to stand in front of my father, who was now chattering in a quick, high tenor:

"Sir Guy, I would have prepared supper and a cup of wine, had I known to expect you! How can I be of service, my lord?"

My lord? I thought, shivering. A knight, then? Perhaps one of the landed gentry's ugly henchmen; but then, Father has mentioned taxes. I stiffened, my fists clenched, my mind reeling with images of my father being dragged off only minutes after I had seen him.

"Whingeing little mouse," one of the guards muttered, laughing. "E's all strung up now that you're 'ere, Sir Guy. Wonder what 'e's hidin' this time?"

This time? I thought, my own panic rising. Had Father been caught trying to sell his wool to the black markets? He must have been in much more dire straits than he had wanted me to believe, if it was so. I stood up and quietly moved to another small opening in the wall, trying to see.

Then a voice cut across my father's response, and stopped all of my thoughts in their tracks.

"Is there anything I should be aware of, Master Edan?"

My breath froze in the middle of inhaling, and despite the chill of the room, I felt s stab of warmth invade my body. Scorching with masculinity, this was not a voice to be trifled with. It was one of the deepest baritones I had heard in my life, a northern accent adding roughness to its honeyed finesse. This voice knew answers before it asked any query.

My father, equally affected, turned to stand from his seated position. "Sir Guy, you know of my financial troubles. But as far as I am aware, I am paid up until next month for all of my family's taxes."

Don't speak again, I thought. He will know you are lying, I thought furiously. My kneeling position began to ache as I listened for a response. None came, but I slowly made out sounds indicating that the owner of that voice strode about the house with feline grace and predatory energy. My father stood perfectly still as those light, fearsome steps invaded the front room, the kitchen, bedroom, and came back to rest in front of my father. I didn't dare move myself for fear of being heard. I had already ascribed the senses of a large cat to this formidable being; suppose he also had the sensitive hearing of one?

For a few seconds, nothing was said and the tension in the room was palpable. Then suddenly, my view was of Father was blocked by the owner of that voice stepped right in front of my crack in the wall, and my hiding place. Whoever the speaker was, his frame was exceptionally tall to fill this space. I gingerly turned away from the crack, smelling horses and sun worn leather. Panic clawed at my throat and there was a pause, every instinct of my body screaming, Move back! Move as far way as possible! I knew though that at this proximity, I would be heard. I covered my mouth, in case the cold caused me to breathe in sharply or cough.

Another endless minute passed. Then: "Have you employed a new washerwomen, Master Edan?"

"No, Sir Guy," Father answered, just a bit too quickly. "Since my wife died—"

"How odd." Three more prowling steps, very close now to the puzzle door of the secret room. "I smell…lilies. " Turning back to Father: "And your house has of late smelled of death and woad, Master Edan."

"I am most sorry for offending you, Sir Guy," Father began humbly. "I know that you are used to finer—"

"Yes, I am," answered the voice languorously. "I wonder, therefore, why I do smell," the voice moved swiftly away from me and toward my father, "clean linen and lilies?"

Father hesitated before giving in. "You have guessed it, Sir Guy," he said carefully. "I have taken up with a washerwoman from the village and she uses crushed lily in her soaps for me. The ladies say they like it better when they come for my fabrics. Good sales, very good sales."

Another pause. "Her name?" the voice barked.

"Annie Stillwell," Father said, without a moment's hesitation. "She lives round the gate with the sunflowers-"

"I know where she lives, I passed there just this morning," returned the voice, still sounding suspicious. "I did not see lilies in the garden, though."

"Oh, not around here, Sir Guy, you have to go to the forest to find them," Father said casually. "I've told her where they are; it's a secret place that only my family found. My wife often brought them home."

I found my eyes, against my will, stinging at the mention of Mother. My beautiful soft Mother, who had a way with anything of a green nature. This part of what Father had said was true. She often went walking to find wild flowers, and my favorite had always been the lily. She brought them home for me on many occasions, allowing me to keep them much past their prime, because of their beauty and strength. I suppose that was why today, I had crushed the remainder of that lily of the valley in my towel as I dried my hair.

"Well, someday you must show me where you get them, Master Edan. I might like to take a few for Lady Elspeth at the manor." With that, the shadow passed away from my hiding place, and those feline steps strode confidently to the threshold of my Father's door. "You are paid up until next month, when I shall collect from you again. Do not be late." The sounds of the two guards followed shortly and then all the breath came back to my body as I heard the sound of horseshoes begin to beat away into the distance. I took a long, shuddering breath, and found that upon exhaling it, I was wracked with sobs. Now safe, I allowed myself to give into them, tears wetting my dress and staining my shawl. It was only the slight pop of the secret door and Father's warm arms around my shoulders that allowed them to trail off. I collapsed into him, trying to calm myself, and heard him gently say, "I'm so sorry you had to witness that, my dearest love. And your mother…oh, my darling."

When I could more easily breathe, I rasped out, "Father. Who is he?"

My father was silent for a moment before he answered.

"Someone who, if he were aware of your existence, would be a great danger to you. His name is Sir Guy of Gisbourne, and he is the Sheriff's primary enforcer in this area. "

I held myself still closer to him. "Has he hurt you before, Father?" The fingers of my hand twisted in anger at the thought.

"Not myself, darling, but he is ruthless. The spinner down the creek, Delaram, was unable to pay his occupancy tax last month. The next time I saw Delaram his index finger was missing in payment." My eyes widened. Father's living would be twice as difficult if he had lost any part of his hand, but to do this to a spinner…

"So he is cruel then," I said coldly.

"He expects payment, as any enforcer does, and will take it in any form." Here he glanced at me, his look laden with meaning. "Without my black market trade, I could never pay the exorbitant tax he demands on my land and animals, so I'm certain he suspects that I have other illegal income. As of yet, he has not discovered this room, but the man seems to have a sixth sense."

I nodded vigorously, remembering his stalking around each room of the house before standing right in front of my hiding place.

"So, my darling," Father said, standing me up. "We must find another place to hide the goods, for I am sure he will find this room; it is inevitable. I was so pleased for you to come home after this many years from your aunt, but also because you and your mother were so clever at finding places in the forest that no one else would see." I smiled a bit at this, thinking of many hidden areas from my childhood and wondered if they were still there. "Shall we find one today, my love?" Father asked.