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"But I'm still your leader. I'm still the Ghost of Sherwood, and mating an Alpha hasn't changed what I owe the people living in this forest."

I paused. "If anybody believes I can no longer lead because I've taken the Sheriff of Nottingham as my mate, say so now. We can settle it tonight."

Little John watched me for several moments.

Then he lowered his axe and leaned it against the wall.

It was only the second time in a fortnight I'd seen him willingly set that weapon aside in front of me.

"I'll send someone to Papplewick," he said.

For now, that was enough.

The scout arrived at first light with mud up to his knees and water dripping from his boots.

Soldiers had gone through Papplewick and Thornby again, confiscating the relief grain we'd delivered. This time, however, they'd taken more than food.

Three villagers had been dragged from their homes and arrested for aiding an outlaw.

One was a carter from Thornby. Another was a young man from Edwinstowe whose sister had apparently committed the terrible crime of collecting heat suppressants in the market square.

The third was Hild.

Seventy-one-year-old Hild, who'd taken me into her home during the ice storm of my second winter in Sherwood.

She'd given me her own bed while she stayed awake beside the fire, waiting for the soldiers searching the village to pass. If they'd entered her cottage, they would've found an elderly woman sitting alone with her hens.

Now Fitzwalter had arrested her for it.

All three prisoners were being transferred to Nottingham Castle. The proclamation announcing their transport had been read in three separate markets, complete with the route and the day they would travel.

"That's bait," Merry said.

"I know."

"Robin, they've told everyone which road they're taking."

"I heard you."

"They gave the road, the day, and the hour. Then they put an old woman who once sheltered you in the first wagon. They're practically begging you to come after them."

"I know exactly what they're doing."

Alana leaned forward.

"Then stay hidden. Let Bisbane handle it from inside the castle. If he's found what you say he's found, he can take the whole matter before the King."

"And how long will that take?"

"Three weeks, perhaps."

"Hild is seventy-one years old, Alana, and it's October. She won't survive three weeks in those cells."

I looked at each of them.

"Fitzwalter knows that. It's why he chose her."

Nobody argued.