A night bird called overhead. Bushes rustled. My eyes glanced around the shadows of the forest, looking for King John’s men behind every tree we passed. I had to keep reminding myself that people didn’t stay out after dark in the Middle Ages. The knights were settled in for the night by now, and besides, if anyone else had been around, we would have seen their lamplight.

A bird flew from a bush straight at me, startling me so much I let out a gasp. Hudson turned back to check on me. I expected him to tell me not to be so jumpy. Instead, he took my hand and squeezed it. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll be home soon.” 300/356

Home. That life seemed like the fairy tale now, and this was the real one. These huge trees and darkness and uncertainty.

A little farther down the path, I saw some rocks that were the right size to turn into gold. They were big enough that it would take some work on the Merry Men’s part to move or hide them. As I changed each one, I felt a stab of pain and then the rock’s rough surfaces grew smooth underneath my fingertips.

Hudson helped me up when I was done and handed me my candle. “Can you make it back to the carriage?” I nodded.

He turned to go, but I reached out for his arm. “Be careful. Watch out for bandits.”

He smiled. “I will.” He dropped a quick kiss on my lips. It was over so soon I didn’t have time to think about it.

But as I turned and walked back toward the carriage, I thought about the kiss anyway. It was okay to feel this way about Hudson because things would work out for us. Didn’t the baby prove that? I ran my free hand along the sling and the contours of the baby’s warm little body.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself hope for good things.

When we got home, my family would be closer, happier. Hudson and I would be together—and not in a running-for-our-lives sort of way like the last few days, but in a boyfriend-girlfriend sort of way.

I was wondering how Hudson would break the news to his father about dating the girl he’d met at the police station, when a gust of wind blew my candle out. I was instantly plunged into darkness.

I reached in the diaper bag for the box of matches. My fingers fumbled nervously through the contents. The sudden darkness reminded me how alone I was.

A noise came from behind me, like twigs breaking.

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No need to panic, I told myself, it’s another bird or something.

I put the candle in the bend of my arm so I could use both hands to find the matches. I heard another noise, like dry leaves being stepped on. I spun around to face whatever was there, but I couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

These sorts of noises had probably been here all along. I just hadn’t paid attention to them because I could see. Nothing was in front of me. Nothing was coming closer. Everything would be fine as soon as I lit the candle again.

A clunk sounded in front of me, perhaps a footstep. I took a step backward, and stopped sifting through the diaper bag. I realized I didn’t need the candle to see.

“I’m not afraid,” I said.

The sparklers went off around my head, illuminating the forest better than the tiny flame had done.

The trees in front of me were clear of any danger, and I relaxed until I heard a voice to my side say, “You’re lying about that.”

Chapter 22

I spun around. Rumpelstiltskin stood only inches away. His thin lips spread into a smile. “And you should be afraid.” I dropped the candle and bolted forward. I needed to escape, to get the baby to safety. I only made it a few steps before Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers clutched my arm and pulled me back with more strength than I expected from such bony hands.

“You mustn’t run in the dark forest, Mistress Miller,” his voice hissed near my ear. “You’re bound to hurt yourself that way.” He wore a dark cloak that brushed against the ground. A wreath made of twisted, bare branches encircled his head, which made his cheekbones seem even more angular. His eyes looked sunken but every bit as full of the churning darkness they’d held during our other meetings. It struck me as strange that even here in the evening forest, I could see the churning in his eyes.

“Let me go.” I tried to pry away his fingers but couldn’t budge them.

He grinned at me, amused at my attempts. “I’ll let you go when you give me the baby. Then you can go back to creating gold to your heart’s content.”

I couldn’t use strength to get away, so I decided to stall him. If we stayed here long enough, Hudson would come back. He had the anti-fairy sand. Maybe he could use it to free me. “How did you catch up to me so fast?” I asked. “Our horses raced here and no enemies could see the carriage.”

“Catch up to you?” Rumpelstiltskin smiled, showing his graying teeth. “Did you think I followed you?” He shook his head, and the 303/356

wreath let out a scent of decaying wood. “No point in that. Not when I knew you would return to your family eventually. My mirror still shows me where your father is. I waited near his camp and lo, tonight the trees were whispering about a carriage lumbering through.

Enemies might not be able to see your carriage, but trees can. I was on my way to your carriage when I found you on the path.” He pulled me closer to him. “Now then, give me what you promised.” I shrank back as far as his grip would allow. “We made an agreement for King John’s son. I never married him.” With his free hand, Rumpelstiltskin pulled a paper from his cloak.

“This is our contract—the very words we shook on.” He placed it in my hand, and the paper immediately wrapped itself around my arm like a snake. I tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t let go. Pulsating, it clung to me, then sunk into my skin so the words looked like they had been tattooed onto my arm.

Rumpelstiltskin watched it and laughed. “The contract is binding.

You agreed to give me whatever I asked for within the year—including your child.” He pointed his long fingers at the sling. “And there he is.

Give him to me.”

I held onto the sling with my free arm, trying to keep Rumpelstiltskin from taking the baby. In the fairy tale, the queen cried so piteously that Rumpelstiltskin allowed her to guess his name within three days. If she was successful, she could keep the child. I didn’t have to force myself into the part. I couldn’t bear to think of Rumpelstiltskin taking my baby and leaving him to die alone in a vault. The tears and the fear came in equal measure, making it hard to speak over my sobs. “Please don’t take him. I didn’t think I would have him when we made our bargain. It isn’t his fault.” I had nothing to offer Rumpelstiltskin in exchange except my own life. “Take me instead. Please.

Please.” I couldn’t say more. The tears choked my words.

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Rumpelstiltskin let go of my arm. “Do not flee again,” he said.

“I’ve never hunted down prey like a lion, and what if I discovered I liked it? What would happen to all the innocents that walk through the forest? You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?” I gave a small shake of my head. I couldn’t run and hide among the trees, not with sparklers flowing from my head—but I couldn’t see without the light. Besides, the trees could tell him where I was anyway.

“Please,” I begged. “Give me another chance to keep my baby.” Rumpelstiltskin reached over and ran his bony thumb over my cheek. “Such compelling supplications from a fair maiden.” He leaned closer. His eyes were not brown as I had thought before. They were a deep burgundy, like drying blood. “I’m moved,” he said. “I won’t pretend I’m not.” His hand went to my chin, and he cupped it between his cold fingers. “You want a chance to get out of this bargain?”

“Yes,” I said hurriedly.