Page 86

Three years ago I swore I’d drag Robin of Locksley back to Nottingham in chains. I’d called her a criminal and a menace and the single greatest irritation of my professional life. I’d said all of it in front of witnesses, in writing, more than once.

She called me considerably worse, and pinned it to my own wagons where my men could read it.

Now she slept on my chest wearing my mark, with her mark stinging on my throat, and her heart going somewhere alongside mine through a thing neither of us was raised to expect.

The Crown still wanted her dead. Edmund Fitzwalter still held the whole truth of her father's execution, and by morning I would have to decide how a man goes about taking a kingdom apart from the inside with nothing but half a letter and a commission he is about to lose.

None of it mattered that night.

That night the Ghost of Sherwood was asleep and safe and breathing in my arms, and the Sheriff of Nottingham had finally found something worth betraying a kingdom for.

21

GUY

Irode out of Sherwood on the fourth morning after the bond like a demon was behind me. I hadn't made it a mile before I was already fighting the urge to turn around and go back to Robin.

It wasn't painful, exactly. I'd been stabbed before, and this was nothing like that. It was more like leaving something important behind and feeling its absence no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on anything else. I could still sense Robin somewhere northwest of me. I couldn't hear her thoughts or know what she was doing, but I could feel her emotions through our bond. The farther I rode, the weaker that connection became, until I could barely feel her at all.She had been perfectly composed about the parting, which is how I knew what it was costing her.

"Go," Robin told me as she straightened the collar of my coat. "Get the records. Get the cooper out of your cells. And Bisbane, if you're not back within a fortnight, I'm coming to Nottingham to get you myself. And I promise you, I'll make a scene."

She pulled my collar higher to cover the mating mark on my throat, smoothed it down, and finally stepped away.

By the time Nottingham Castle came into view, the sun was beginning to rise. Its gray stone walls stood high above the road, looking much the same as they had when I left. I pushed back my hood, straightened my coat, and prepared to resume my duties as Sheriff of Nottingham.

The reception caught me off guard.

One of the guards spotted me approaching and shouted my name from the wall. By the time I rode through the gates, several men had gathered in the courtyard to welcome me back.

Hugh reached me before anyone else.

He'd served as my lieutenant for five years, and in all that time, I'd rarely seen the man lose his composure. Today, he looked downright rattled.

"Sheriff."

"Hugh."

He fell into step beside me as I headed toward the hall.

"You told Captain Aldric you'd follow him down that same night," he said quietly. "That was four days ago."

"The wound reopened."

"Yes, sir."

I glanced at him. "You don't believe me."

"I believe the wound reopened because you look like you've lost a fair amount of blood." He lowered his voice. "As for everything else that's happened over the last ten days, I've got my doubts. So does nearly everyone in this castle. I thought you ought to know that before you go upstairs."

"Fitzwalter?"

Hugh nodded.

"He's been here six of the ten days you've been missing, and he's made quite a nuisance of himself."

He took my horse's reins, an unusual gesture considering we had perfectly capable stablehands. I suspected he wanted an excuse to remain beside me without drawing attention.

"He's questioned three of my sergeants about whether you've ever shown sympathy toward the Ghost. He's been asking the clerks what records you were studying before you disappeared. He even doubled the reward for her capture out of his own purse."