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"It's nothing serious," he said.

I looked at him.

"Guy, you've got three inches of injured flesh that's just spent an hour soaking in the River Leen. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop telling me what my own stitches look like."

He wisely closed his mouth.

I cleaned the wound using the last of our boiled water and what remained of Sefa's yarrow.

Then I stitched him up again.

Four fresh stitches by firelight.

Guy lay on the turf, staring at the branches overhead without making a sound.

I'd watched him endure this once before, and I didn't like it any better the second time.

"You realize I can't go back," he said as I tied the last stitch.

I kept my attention on the thread.

"To Nottingham?"

"To my position. My men. My rooms."

He sighed.

"By tomorrow afternoon, there'll be a warrant for my arrest. By the end of the week, Fitzwalter will have another sheriff installed. Some obedient fool who'll do whatever he's told."

I cut the thread.

"Everything I've spent twenty years building will belong to somebody else," he continued.

"You've still got a home."

He turned his head toward me.

"Do I?"

I sat back on my heels.

"Guy, you mated an outlaw who lives in a forest. What exactly did you imagine was going to happen?"

He laughed quietly.

Then he grew serious.

"I thought we'd have more time."

"So did I."

I took his hand.

For a while, we sat beside the fire without speaking. The warmth was beginning to return to my fingers, and being close to Guy made the bond feel stronger.

"I was frightened," he admitted.

I looked at him.