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“No!” I howled, waiting just long enough to watch Dan’s body topple to his knees, and then chest-forward onto the cobblestones in a pool of his own blood.
Sir Guy stepped around the bloody pool.
Another stranger I trusted who made good on his word.
Another man dead for following me.
Dan the Dove could have left Nottingham after escaping the gallows amidst the turmoil. He didn’t have to follow me or Guy. I would be wondering for the rest of my days why he decided to help me, and what he’d hoped to gain out of it.
I wished I hadn’t seen what Guy had done—what fate had befallen the mysterious prisoner—but it only renewed my animosity and flared the red curtain behind my eyes.
John pulled me along, and I spun to follow him.
My eyes burned, yet I didn’t cry. I jogged with a clenched jaw, grinding my teeth as we made it toward the eastern gate.
John said, “How the hell are we planning on getting through—”
Madness had visited the eastern gate, evidently spilling out from the town square. A ragtag band of men and women were pushing soldiers and engaged in a fierce scrum, trying to shove their way through the gate to leave.
I didn’t recognize any of the people as Merry Men. It didn’t matter. They were trying to get out, and so were we.
Only a thin line of soldiers held them back, and it looked like their line was about to break.
It just needed a little nudging.
John did the honors, joining the fracas with a barrel-dive into the crowd. He shouldered a guard in the back and sent him flying, sword clattering to the ground.
The man wailed as he went to his hands and knees, and then sprawled across the cobbles to try and grab his discarded sword.
John roared, swinging his huge fists and throwing his arms about. He spun, twisted, and bellowed like a madman. No one wanted a piece of the huge, lumbering beast. Soldiers and peasants alike gave him a wide berth.
I drew my dagger, just in case, and then watched as the guard he had shoved into from behind crawled forward and reached for the pommel of his sword—
But a bandit got to it first, swiping it off the ground.
Then I saw a profile view of the soldier as he gazed up from his hands and knees at the peasant who held all the power in front of him.
“Carter?!” I yelled in confusion above the din of battle.
The young man’s head turned, face pale and awash with terror. “Robin?”
“Wait!” I screamed, extending my arm. “Not him!”
The peasant holding Carter’s sword shoved the blade directly into the young man’s mouth, jutting the point through the back of his neck.
I gawked, dizzied as blood spurt and he flopped to the ground. “No!” I wailed for the thousandth time that dismal day. Not another one! No more death—please!
John’s huge arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “We have to go, little star!”
Sir Guy was turning the corner up the road. He spotted us and started running in our direction.
My feet left the ground. Little John picked me up like I weighed nothing, stashing me away under his arm as he ran.
My body flailed, aches pulsing through my limbs. Everything hurt. “Put me down!”
He finally did, minutes later . . . once we were past the gate and on the edge of Sherwood Forest.
We were alone. Yelling and shouting filled the air back in Nottingham as the fighting continued, and I noticed multiple plumes of smoke rising from different parts of the city. Sir Guy and his soldiers hadn’t exited the eastern gate yet, and I doubted they would now.
