Chapters (76)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- PART II
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- PART III
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- INTERLUDE
- PART IV
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- PART V
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART VI
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- INTERLUDE
- PART VII
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- PART VIII
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
With one hand she brushed a long braid from her face, and with the other she pulled a short knife from her belt.
“Slow down,” Roger barked. “Who was killed? I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about.”
“You can lie to us all you want,” came the boy, “you’re going to pay all the same.”
He had a knife, too. Roger had rounded to the back of the table. The room was too small.
“Wait. Just wait.” He cleared his throat. “Listen to me. I need you to tell me what you’re talking about. What you’re thinking of doing here, it would accomplish nothing. I understand you want to blame someone, but killing me, really? Think this through. If you were to kill me, there’s simply going to be another sheriff, and he—”
“Then we’ll kill him, too.”
The boy moved, quickly, he was too close, and then Roger’s vision went white. He smashed the palm of his hand at the boy, who reeled backward.
What the hell is wrong with them? Roger wanted to scream, but his throat was tight and his clothes were drenched with sweat. The boy took a step back, and the knife in his hand was dark. He had been too close, did he hurt himself?
But no, Roger’s clothes were sopping, and he looked down and saw the blood soaking his robes by his own stomach, dripping on the floor between his feet. No, he thought, he needed this week. A wound like this, he could be bedridden for a month. He didn’t have that time, he had too many things to do.
The girl must have been behind him. He felt her blade slip between his ribs.
His arms went numb, they were cold, my God they were so cold, and he was on the table, his limbs smashed its contents across the room. Except for a letter under his face that read Lord Guy of Gisbourne.
Lord Guy of Gisbourne.
He hadn’t had a chance to burn it.
He had to burn it now. No. He had to leave, he had to get over the table and to the door. No, he had to talk to them. They had to understand. This wasn’t an option, it simply wasn’t. His fingers weren’t working, he was staring at them, but they wouldn’t move. With his elbow he shoved himself upright, stumbling back into the wall. He couldn’t believe how cold he was, it came from within him, like nothing he had ever felt before.
The boy was breathing heavily, the girl had to hold her knife with both hands. These two weren’t killers. They were only playing at it.
“You’re children,” he said, only realizing how much that meant as he said it.