Mercy on their misguided souls, she realized they were probably dead already. Gisbourne meant to parade their corpses at the funeral, rather than give them the dignity of execution. Marion closed her eyes, willing away the image of Will Scarlet’s smug face, thinking himself smarter than the world. He had earned his fate.

She wanted to blame him for all of this, but he was not the only one at fault. Marion carried her share, as well as Robin. Even de Lacy, even Lord Walter. Perhaps they all should hang tomorrow, everyone who had ever braved an opinion and the strength to act on it. England would be a safer—if less interesting—place for the few survivors.

A clatter broke again outside, and the door opened abruptly a second time. Marion reeled at the guard. “What have I asked you about knocking?”

“Sorry, mum,” the voice replied, but it was not the same Guardsman. This one was much larger and wore no tabard. He slammed the door behind him, barricading it with a rather familiar heavy quarterstaff.

“Oh my God!” Marion screamed.

“Oh my God!” John Little screamed back, and nearly fell over in shock.

“John! What on earth?”

“Lady Marion! Well that works out—” He caught himself and hushed his voice, sheepishly avoiding the door. “Well that works out nicely!”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, because it was the only thing she could possibly say, second only to “How did you get here?” which she asked as well, not waiting for an answer to the first. She was at once thrilled and horrified at his presence. He was red-faced and sweaty, with one eye fully bloodshot.

“No worrying about that now, it wasn’t anything difficult.” He grabbed at her hand, missing once and then slipping off a second time, breathing heavily. A dried patch of blood covered his arm at the shoulder. He waved clumsily for her to join him, which hardly counted as good counsel.

“Come on then, we’ll be off.” From the corridor outside, muffled voices and a commotion of bodies rampaged closer. John pushed his weight against the door and braced the staff with both hands. “Best we stay here for a bit, actually, if it’s all the same.”

Against reason, Marion planted her hands against the rough wood of the door as well, barely able to reach it around John’s body. The door had a keylock but his chest blocked her from using it. Fortunately, the Guardsmen rumbled past her door without stopping, and Marion relaxed her grip as their clamor receded.

“You are going to get yourself killed, John!”

“Me? No, no.” He shook his head again, wiping the sweat from around his eyes. “I’m safe, see? Robin might, though.”

His name struck her cold. “Robin might what?”

“Get himself killed.”

“He’s here, too?” She flung herself from the door to dress, but stopped just as suddenly. “What’s going on?”