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
William paused, he seemed genuinely hurt. With a slow gesture, he reached across the table to pluck up Robin’s glass, brought it to his lips and pulled. He rolled the wine in his mouth, swallowed as loudly as he could, wiped his face with his forearm and smacked his lips with condescending spectacle. After not dying, he returned the glass to the edge of the table for Robin.
For the first time since entering the castle, Robin’s conviction wavered.
“I’m not trying to kill you, Robin. If that was my design, I could have done it by now. I’m not staging a rebellion. I’m not deserting a war. I’m not chasing people out of their homes. And I’m certainly not forcing anyone into a marriage. You, on the other hand,” he angled forward forcefully, leaning his elbows on the table, “have taken control of a band of mercenaries. You’re calling the people to revolt during wartime. Your men have been responsible for the assassination of a High Sheriff … what else? The least of your offenses, stealing from the King’s resources, is—if I may remind you—what we came back to England in the first place to stop! So you tell me, which one of us is more likely a traitor to the King?”
A mote of dust floated down and up again, carried by the heat of the room’s candles. Robin squinted, softly shaking his head. “You were never appointed Sheriff. You’re sitting on a throne you stole, and you call me a traitor?”
It took a moment of decision, but William ground his jaw and accepted the answer. “Saying I stole it is a bit theatrical,” he said. “I’m finishing de Lacy’s legacy. Would you honestly prefer Lord Gisbourne as Sheriff? A man who would rather kill all those who oppose him, who steals from the poor and gives to the rich? Ask this man, his assistant. Tell me honestly,” he asked Ferrers, “how would your captain fare as Sheriff?”
“Deplorably,” Ferrers answered without hesitation.
“That’s what I’m up against.”
William brushed his hair from his face, shifting his feet in rapid little circles. “Do you think the people would be safer under his command? I’m trying to protect them, same as you. Damn it, Robin, you would have done the same thing. If we had changed places, if our roles had been reversed. When we were attacked in the woods, if your leg hadn’t been injured, if you had run and I stayed instead. You would have done this the same as I. Every step along the way.”
“I say deplorably,” Ferrers continued, “largely because he is dead. Robin cut his throat out in the Sherwood.”