“Robin.”

She placed both her hands on his cheeks and looked him square. “He’ll be gone before we know it. And who’s been fighting from the beginning? You’re a thousand Robins.”

He breathed in, all the way, and out again. Twice.

“What if we just scare the shit out of him?” he asked with a boyish chuckle. “The gord.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Gilbert,” he said.

She loved it. “Gilbert.”

He leaned over to kiss her shoulder, and a shiver shot up her spine. “In a clean fight, by the way, Robin wouldn’t stand a chance,” he said, moving to her neck, and he never lied to her.

THE GORD ATE WITH them the next night, around a large fire. He drank their hot apple cider, he joked with Friar Tuck about mishearing his name as Friar Tug. Some of the young boys in the camp spent the rest of the evening rushing up and grabbing at his tunic, yelling “Tug!” Elena watched Much run up to the gord with a mouth full of food and show it to him, as if he were some brother to play with. It was like watching a child play with a sharp knife, and it put Elena’s nerves on edge. But she had plans now to deal with him, which blunted the edge a fair shade.

She was just waiting for the moment to play her hand.

“We’ll escort you out of the Sherwood,” Marion was saying. “I think we’ve proven that we don’t mean you any harm.”

Bassett nodded, staring into his cup. “You’ve been kind. My chest still hurts like a fucking…” He trailed off and looked at John Little, who winced in apology. “But I get it,” he finished. “I do. I get it.”

“You’ll talk to William de Wendenal, then?” Locksley patted the man’s shoulders. “Let him know we’re ready to talk?”

“I will.”

“Gilbert’s prepping the horses,” Elena said, as nonchalantly as possible.

But Marion immediately pricked an eyebrow at her. “Gilbert? No, Amon can take him back.”

Elena did her best to pretend that was surprising. “Why?”

Marion had no response, she just shrugged and waffled. “This is important, and I trust Amon.”

“And you don’t trust Gilbert?”

“It’s not that.”

“Because he’s weird?” Elena put as much accusation into the word as she could.

Locksley had no problem saying it. “Well he is weird.”

“We’re all weird,” Elena splayed her hands out at the group around them. “Everyone thinks Gilbert is some sort of ghost story or something, just because he sticks to himself. Not everyone needs the world to like them, you know?”

Locksley gave a half laugh but stopped himself, because he always laughed, and it was exactly what she was describing.