He watched me gape at his hand, then held it up a little higher so I could see better. His tone stayed casual. “It’s what I got for mouthing off to the captain in my last platoon one too many times. Charming man, right?”
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I stammered, forcing my eyes away at last. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
Walter shrugged. “I know it makes people uncomfortable. It’s why I usually wear the gloves.” He looked meaningfully at the glove still clutched in my hand.
“Oh.” I awkwardly handed it back, looking anywhere but at his uncovered hand as he pulled the glove on again.
Seeing injuries shouldn’t have bothered me. There was a girl back in Sherwood Forest, Dale’s youngest daughter, who had been born with one leg oddly short and twisted so her toes pointed out to the side. Teresa always limped around with a crutch, but she had inherited Dale’s lightheartedness and was one of the few girls I could tolerate being around without wanting to rip out my hair. Her disability didn’t frighten me; it was simply part of her. But Walter’s hand felt different.
This was not a body being born a different way or healing poorly after an accident. This was calculated, deliberate cruelty. Someone had chosen it. Someone had decided that taking part of a man’s hand was an acceptable response to words.
Trying valiantly to appear blasé, I forced out a weak laugh. “Well, that must have been quite the mouth-off to deserve something like that.”
“Ah, little lady, be glad you’ll never serve in the military.” Walter patted my shoulder with his other gloved hand, the touch kind and steady. I could tell by the touch that this hand waswhole and undamaged. “Places like that aren’t for an innocent girl like you. You wouldn’t last ten minutes with those brutes.”
I nodded solemnly to show my absolute acceptance of his statement. “Which platoon were you in?”
“John’s First Battalion.”
First Battalion… That was the group that had held me captive all winter long. It was Baron’s group.
A horrible, creeping sensation moved through me. I kept my face still, though every part of me seemed to go cold at once. “How long ago?”
I wasn’t sure whether Walter was opposed to talking about it, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looked almost relieved to have the matter out in the open now that I had seen his hand. “About four years ago. I should’ve known better than to give lip to someone who felt like he had something to prove.”
“What do you mean?” The creeping sensation grew heavier.
Walter shrugged. “The captain was barely in his twenties and needed to make an example out of someone. His father was the Sheriff of Nottingham, so most of us felt he hadn’t done anything to deserve the promotion over older and better qualified candidates.” He adjusted the cuff of his glove, tugging it into place. “He’s the sheriff now. That’s why I was so worried about you when I heard he brought you in for questioning. I make sure to steer well clear of him whenever I can.”
The words struck me with such force that the corridor seemed to tilt under my feet.
Baron.
It felt like learning about his parentage all over again. In the back of my mind, I could hear Walter continuing to talk, but his words blurred together until they became nothing more than a distant hum and time seemed to slow around me. Any noise felt strangely separate from where I stood.
Baron did this?
The image of Walter’s damaged hand flashed through my mind. Then, before I could stop it, that image was replaced by one of Baron with his sword raised high, his face twisted into the same cruel expression his father had worn so often.
I forced the thought away. It made me physically ill to imagine it.
It couldn’t be true. Baron was kind and patient. He was the one who made sure I had been fed and kept warm during my captivity. He was the one who had risked everything to set me free. He had left his father’s side and chosen ours. He worked ceaselessly to help the Merry Men and wanted to be inducted as one of us. He cared about me. He loved me. Baron could not have done something this horrific…
Could he?
Walter’s voice faded in and out, but I couldn’t concentrate on any of it. Memories rose too quickly for me to stop them. Baron’s father had shouted at me that I had no idea what Baron had done. He had told me I would never love his son if I knew what he was really like. I had dismissed it at the time because the Sheriff was hateful and had wanted to hurt both me and Baron.
But had there been truth hidden inside the cruelty? I swallowed. I couldn’t think like that.
I knew Baron.
I trusted him.
Baron was working undercover for us, for the Merry Men. I couldn’t see him as the foul-tempered, power-hungry tyrant Walter described. But was that because he wasn’t one, or because I didn’t want to see it?
The thought tore through me.
Could everything I knew about Baron be a façade? Was it all an elaborate act he put on whenever he was with me? Could someone pretend that well for months and months?