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The clattering of blades stopped on the other side of the abbey. All that remained were raised voices—Will and Tuck’s.
“Robin!” they both yelled—
And appeared seconds later around the bend of the house. Their faces dropped when they noticed my stance—eyes up, arrow nocked, legs locked.
“Let’s go, foolish girl!” Will shouted. He grabbed a dagger off his body and whipped it toward the window.
“Amos! Bellows! I’m pinned up here!” came the guard’s voice upstairs.
I loosened my hold on the bowstring, turned, and scampered downhill. Will and Tuck were close behind. The rush of wind burned my eyes.
We came to Alan—still lumbering along with the girl clutching his back—and passed them as we dashed toward the woods.
I couldn’t help the laugh that pushed past my lips. Hysterical and moon-touched. Lost in the throes of danger and exhilaration. Emma chuckled at my excitement, and the girl she held hands with also let out a high-pitched bark.
A grunt sounded somewhere behind us, but I couldn’t be bothered. We kept running and running until my thighs ached and my heart thundered and my blood rushed in my ears. I hadn’t seen another arrow yet, which meant we must have scared the archer too badly to retaliate.
Then I noticed no one had answered when he called out to “Amos” and “Bellows.” My eyes went sidelong to Will, still running with a sword drawn . . .
And the blood staining the tip of the blade.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my imagination from running wild. Only forward. Keep moving until we get to the horses!
We burst into the safety of the woods, all of us breathless and panting. The girls—myself included—smiled at each other and gasped for breath.
Emma lunged at me and wrapped me in a fierce hug.
Alan kneeled to set down the girl on his back. “Come on, lass. Let’s take a look at that broken ankle of yours. We can bring you to our camp on one of our horse—”
“Oh, God,” Tuck breathed from the back of the group.
Silence. The girl didn’t respond to Alan.
“Lass?” Alan said, voice rising.
I blinked wildly, staring at Alan’s blanched face.
“Robin . . .” Tuck groaned. His cheeks had lost color.
“W-What is it? Tuck, talk to me!”
“Lady Robin, what’s going on?” Emma asked, terror in her tone. “Liz? Come on, honey, I know the foot hurts but at least we’re still breathing! It will heal.”
Still no answer. Alan couldn’t shake her off his back. I moved toward the back of the group to see what was scaring Tuck so badly.
“Robin, no—don’t!” the friar yelled.
It was too late. Emma and I rounded Alan-a-Dale.
And found an arrow lodged in the girl’s upper back, her body slumped forward, arms still circling Alan’s neck and holding tight.
Even in death.
I gasped, mortified.
“No!” Emma cried, rushing forward.
She hugged her friend Liz and helped peel her off Alan’s back. Will came over, sheathed his blades, and lowered his chin beside Alan, while Tuck made the sign of the cross, stuffed his bloody iron knuckles away, and prayed for the dead girl.
