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
Scarlet’s knives were sheathed again, but he kept his distance, hands on their hilts. “He’s a long way from the truth, I’d say. Here…” he reached down and gingerly selected an arrow from Robin’s quiver, which he must have brought along. But he’d opted to approach with his knives rather than use the bow. Must be a poor shot. “For your life, I’ll bet you couldn’t hit that oak from here.”
The tree he pointed to wasn’t an oak, and would have been an easy shot for any novice bowman. Robin made a show of thinking about the challenge, then snapped the arrow in half over his knee. He cast the pieces away into the shallows. “I’m not here to fight.”
“I’ll bet he’s a deserter.”
“I’m not a deserter, but there are plenty of men who are. The army’s supplies are dwindling. Weapons, food, supplies aren’t making it to the men. Specifically those coming through Nottingham. We figured it might be the Sheriff, hoarding and keeping it all—”
This seemed to touch a nerve, for Will at least. “Oh, it’s definitely the Sheriff. Let’s deal then. We’ll let you go, and in return you can kill the Sheriff to your heart’s content.”
Robin almost laughed out loud. “Kind enough, excepting three things. First, I wouldn’t be killing the Sheriff, that’s not really quite sane.”
“Pity.”
“Second, and more importantly, is that you’re the ones stealing the supplies, yes? Not the Sheriff at all.”
Little frowned. Soggy and sopping, blood flowing pink into his grey moustache and beard, he had lost all his ferocity. “A solid point. And the third?”
“The third? Well, the third being it wouldn’t be you letting me go,” Robin did his best here to stand tall, and he hoped his soaked and tousled garments didn’t make him look unusually foolish, “it would be me letting you go.” After a moment without reaction, their mutual laughter told him he looked precisely as ridiculous as he felt.
“We’re your prisoners then?” asked Little.
“That’s right.”
“That’s right. Alright. Alright.” Little turned and moved back toward the river, plodding his way through the water to dip his hands beneath its surface and wash his face off. His beard was still pink, and he motioned for Robin to follow.
“Come on, now!” Will picked up the quiver and the saddlebag, too, already hopping after his friend.