Lady Marion. She had arrived in Nottingham yesterday, seemingly oblivious to the capital shitstorm. Had Gisbourne learned of her arrival, he would have thrown her in a dungeon and interrogated her as an accomplice to de Lacy’s murder. But she had only come to Nottingham for Robin’s sake, to let them know he was no longer part of the outlaws, that Robin Hood was gone. It was their mutual fondness for Robin, and a curious instinct that she still had much to offer, that prompted William to protect her. William convinced her to leave—hopefully to the safety of Sheffield, for if she foolishly rejoined the outlaws she would share their fate.

There was a low greystone wall enclosing the courtyard that had once been the manor’s main entrance, now just an open black wound in the crumbling façade. The remaining light was at his back, and still no sign of life. William moved closer, finding patterns in the dirt, but he could not tell how old they were. Then the slightest tink of metal on stone came from above, and he pressed himself against the wall.

After a few pregnant seconds the noise repeated, and at the edge of sound there was movement. William crept low and away until he could spy at the openings of the manor’s second story, and was immediately rewarded with a flicker of light. Faint, perhaps a lantern or candle, and another tink that came from a window on the west side. Could be a scavenger, could be Robin. Or could be a trap.

He discreetly slipped the knife from his boot out and buried the blade into the dirt. An old habit, in case they disarmed him within. Its handle mingled with the long strands of grass, and he alone would know it was there if he needed it. He pursed his lips and let out a low warbling whistle, a bird call they used in Richard’s private guard as identification.

No answer came.

A massive hole yawned above the entranceway, a second-story room exposed from floor to ceiling, and the collapsed stonework offered an easy climb up. He shifted his baldric to keep his sword from tapping stone as he scaled the wall, tested out his footholds, and clutched at charred holes barren of their timber. Within a few seconds, William hoisted his legs up into a bedroom, recognizable only by the rotten remnants of a bed askew in its middle, crushed under the slag and debris of the ceiling.

He waited, staring into the darkest corner, letting his eyes adjust. He half expected to hear enemies inside trying to compensate for his unexpected climb. Instead there was the noise again, lazy and brief, a scraping sound, closer. He pulled his sword with one hand and side-stepped out of the bedroom into a black hall. A lone pool of light revealed a door down and to the left.