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Every time the rhythm of his breathing changed, every hitch and every long pause, I came up on one elbow and watched his chest until I was certain it rose again.

Once, sometime deep into the night, his eyes opened while I was watching.

Neither of us spoke, as his gaze found mine across the darkness. And stayed. I slowly lowered myself back onto my cloak. A few moments later, his voice came softly from the bed.

"Still alive."

I stared at the ceiling. "I wasn't checking."

"Of course not."

"Go to sleep, Bisbane."

"Yes, Robin."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

I did that until the fire burned down to coals.

15

GUY

Iwoke to the soft, soothing scent of lavender.

For a moment, I had no idea where I was, only that the air was heavy with the sweet fragrance of wild lavender, the earthy scent of pine, and the lingering freshness of rain-soaked ground. Something deep inside me had gone strangely quiet, a peaceful stillness I had not experienced in years.

Then I shifted, and a sharp, searing pain tore through my side, reminding me in considerable detail of the knife, the clearing, and the eight men who had emerged from the ferns at dawn.

I turned my head and found her still asleep on the floor. Robin lay near the fireplace wrapped in her own cloak, locs spread dark across a folded pack. One hand loose beside her face and the other on the hilt of her dagger. She had put herself, deliberately, between the bed and the cabin door, so that anything coming through it would reach her first.

The Ghost of Sherwood had spent the night on a cold floor with a blade in her hand so that the Sheriff of Nottingham could have the only bed.

Then I noticed the blanket, folded on the chest by the wall. The only other one in that cabin, and she hadn’t used it. She’d given me the quilt off the bed, lain down on a cloak on bare boards, and forgotten the spare entirely while she was busy keeping me alive.

I got up. It was not a graceful operation. I crossed four feet of floor like a man crossing a river on stones, retrieved the blanket, and lowered myself carefully to drape it over her.

Her hand came up and caught my wrist before the wool touched her shoulder, and her eyes opened at the same instant, already clear.

"Trying to sneak up on me, Sheriff?"

"Trying to keep you from freezing to death."

"How romantic."

"I have my moments."

Her gaze dropped from my face, moved across my bare chest and the bandage strapped across my ribs, and stayed there a beat longer than examination required.

"Apparently," she said.

I knew the exact moment she realized I’d caught her looking. Her chin came up, bold as any challenge she had ever issued me, but her scent warmed in a way no amount of bravado could disguise.

I had faced cavalry charges with a steadier pulse than the one I had now, standing half-dressed before a woman who looked as though she was deciding whether to insult me or touch me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying the view, Little Ghost?"

“No…just considering whether twelve stitches were enough."