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I blinked rapidly, watching as Robin became smaller and smaller in my vision. The pain melded into numbness, and that numbness threaded through my body like a twisted herbalist’s concoction.
I tried to fight off the poison coursing through me. Tried to open my mouth to scream—for once needing aid and willing to ask for it from one of my allies—but found I couldn’t force the words out. My throat had gone dry and dead.
I reached for my quarterstaff at my back. My hands were weak, arms heavy, and it was futile. My attacker easily knocked it out of my hand, to the forest floor.
“Well met, Jonathan,” a smooth voice purred in my ear. The man hadn’t made a sound creeping up to me. “So engrossed in watching your little mouse run through the course, you didn’t think to watch your own back.”
I knew that hateful voice anywhere.
I slowly turned to face Guy of Gisborne. My body shook. My knees started to buckle, and Guy held me up under my arm. Though he was slender, he showed surprising strength to hold a man of my stature upright.
Guy wore a thin smile, his dark eyes twinkling.
“You should have never come back to Nottingham, Jonathan. You were almost free.”
I eked out a sound that was hardly human. It was a garbled mess—certainly not words—and my head filled with dizziness and a fog I couldn’t shake. The edges of my vision dimmed, growing dark.
“Then again,” Guy said, clicking his tongue, “there isn’t a sanctuary far enough or large enough in all of England where I wouldn’t find you, old friend.”
I furrowed my brow, fading fast. Feeling my body slumping forward, I looked one last time in the place where I thought Robin was located.
She was gone.
I didn’t fear for myself. I feared I had let her down. That after this was all done, if I was dead, I’d never be able to take hold of her, kiss her, and tell her how proud of her I was.
For defying the odds. For defying me.
With the burning image of a smiling, mischievous, hooded Robin of Loxley in my eyes, darkness took hold of me completely.
Chapter 55
Robin
An arrow whizzed over my head and slammed into the tree trunk behind me.
My eyes widened. My survival instinct took over. I had just knocked the second-to-last target and was ready to move onto the final area.
The timer-man behind me cursed. “What in God’s name is—”
His voice was cut off as another arrow whistled through the leaves and branches, thudding harmlessly to the ground near me.
I squinted, spotting a shadow ahead.
It quickly darted away into the bushes.
Gritting my teeth, I followed. A scare tactic!
Someone was trying to tilt the game in their favor, frightening me from continuing.
Like hell I’m going to let that happen.
Stubbornly, I smacked aside loose brambles and pursued. They were headed toward the final staging area, which meant they were most likely a competitor. Either that or a wily spectator who had too much money placed on the event and couldn’t afford to lose.
“Come back, coward!” I yelled into the trees, my voice echoing.
I assumed it was Oliver of Mickley. Though he had shown no signs of cowardice, I knew men like that. How they acted once they thought no one watched them.
As I gained on the shadowy figure and pushed into the clearing ahead, I slid to a stop. The timer-man was hot on my heels.
