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I stood at my chamber window, watching another group cross the courtyard below. Their armor was clean, their movements organized, and they carried themselves like men who'd been given orders well before arriving. I recognized none of them.

By the second morning of my confinement, Fitzwalter had replaced nearly half the castle guard.

My sword was gone, my office was locked, and two armed men stood outside my door. Nobody had bothered to tell me whether I was officially under arrest, although I suspected that particular conversation was coming.

I'd counted the new soldiers twice. Thirty-one men, all brought into the castle within two days.

He’s prepared…

Fitzwalter must've had them waiting somewhere nearby for at least a fortnight. The bastard had planned the whole thing. He'd been waiting for an excuse to take control, and I'd given him one the moment I signed my name in Peverel's archive register.

Twenty-six years as a soldier, three as sheriff, and I'd allowed a courtier to seize my castle while I was busy examining ledgers. I turned away from the window and leaned against the shutter.

Twice a day, I tried reaching Robin through our mating bond.

Unfortunately, the connection didn't allow us to speak to one another. I couldn't tell her where I was or warn her to stay away from Nottingham. All I could do was concentrate on her and hope she sensed something of what I was feeling.

She was somewhere northwest of the castle, far enough away that her emotions were difficult to distinguish.

The first night, I sensed her concern.

By the second morning, that concern had become determination.

I knew Robin well enough to understand what that meant. She was planning something, and whatever it was, I doubted she'd given much consideration to the danger involved.

My only comfort was knowing that the half letter written in her father's hand was no longer hidden inside my coat.

On the first night of my confinement, I'd used a shaving blade to cut open the lining and remove it. The letter now rested behind a loose stone in the window alcove, the same hiding place where I'd kept my wine money since my second week in these rooms.

Fitzwalter's men had searched my coat twice.

They'd found nothing.

Fitzwalter arrived that afternoon with two guards.

He left the door open behind him, which told me this wasn't going to be a friendly visit.

"You've been busy, Bisbane."

"I generally am."

"Accessing sealed records. Releasing prisoners. Disappearing into Sherwood for days at a time." He glanced around my chambers, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "And mating with a declared outlaw."

"You've been keeping a list?"

"I've been keeping an eye on my sheriff."

"Then you've wasted a great deal of time, my lord. You could've simply asked me."

He didn't appreciate that answer. Fitzwalter crossed the room toward the window. I watched him carefully as he stopped beside the alcove where I'd hidden the letter.

"Did Robin of Locksley send you into those archives?"

"No."

"Then why were you examining her father's records?"

"Because somebody should've examined them properly six years ago."