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My blood boiled. Battle-lust claimed me, climbing, begging to erupt.
“Boss?” Alan asked, fingers trembling from resistance on the tautened bowstring.
“Do it,” I growled.
The arrow whizzed through the air with a twang, and I quickly lost sight of it.
The soldier speaking with Sir Guy made a move back, away from the door, as if he’d just been given orders. Then he abruptly went rigid, back straight, and crumpled forward into the house.
Will pumped his fist, grinning ear to ear. Tuck patted the minstrel on the shoulder.
“Shit, Alan, I didn’t think you could make a shot like that,” I said.
He smiled. “Our little songbird taught me that. Leading the target.”
I grunted. So she fancies herself an expert archer, does she?
“Good,” I said. “Then let’s get up there and get our girl, before we’re too late.”
Chapter 48
Robin
The cottage fell into abrupt chaos.
Maid Marian—weasel that she was—reacted first. She cursed under her breath and took off for the side door near the back of the house.
Father glanced down at the dead soldier in the doorway, then to Sir Guy, then to me. I was beginning to stand on wobbly legs, hurting all over, when Guy drew his thin blade.
Father scowled, baring his teeth. “Dammit all!”
Out the window behind me, shadows moved, running up the path among the hedgerows. The cries of battle and clashing of steel carried up the hillside. Black-cloaked men were cut down. I recognized the gaits of the pursuers, those battle stances, those weapons—
And my heart sang.
“Kill her or you’ll not be paid!” my father roared, and my singing heart plummeted.
When I veered my gaze, Father chased after Marian for the side door, making his decision to flee and fight another day rather than continue holding me hostage.
Then it was just me and Guy of Gisborne in the main room. I snarled and bent my knees in a fighting stance.
He went straight-backed, perking his brow, and let out a sigh. “I don’t find it honorable to kill an unarmed fighter. Much less a woman, little mouse.”
“As if you have honor,” I spat.
“I have my own code,” he said. His feet shuffled, making a small circle in front of me, cutting off any chance of escape.
I kneeled, reached into my boot, and brought out the small dagger I kept there. “Come at me then, bastard.”
He smiled. Rushed forward, hands a blur, catching me off-guard with his graceful speed.
I stabbed—and my wrist spun sideways with a loop of his blade. My dagger went clattering to the ground and I yelped, grabbing at my stinging hand.
He gave me another shrug. “As I said. Unarmed.”
He was toying with me. The Merry Men would not get to me in time. I had to buy—
Crashing steel and wood from outside, jolting me from how close it sounded.
