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The sound of the arrow hitting stone.
I couldn’t see the Sheriff anymore.
Gritting my teeth and growling, I chased—
“Robin!”
Little John’s voice was weak, low, raspy.
I froze. Looked down the hall, where the Sheriff of Nottingham’s footsteps were receding. Looked back into the cell, where John was still strung up, humiliated.
I screamed in agony and fury and desperation . . .
And darted into the cell.
I drew my second dagger and sliced the ropes off Little John’s wrists, freeing his arms. My face sank as I kneeled at his side and cut the ropes binding his ankles to the legs of the table.
My cheeks were warm, tears trickling down my face. I looked at the ground, ashamed, as Little John pulled his pants up and stood to his full height.
Then a callused finger tilted my chin to stare up at him. “You saved me, little hope.”
“I was . . . too late.”
His head shook. Despite everything, a small smile tugged his lips. Behind his eyes, I saw the rage and sadness simmering. He did well to hide it. “Never too late, my love.”
“Oh, John.” Sniffling, I jumped to my feet and wrapped his broad body in a hug. I sobbed in his chest, and he ran a hand through my hair, and for a moment, in that dark, dank cell, everything felt right again.
Then he said, “We have to go, Robin. We don’t have long before he’s back with more soldiers.”
I peered up at him through glassy eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. This wasn’t your fault, little star. You came. Let’s—” He winced as he turned to move with me.
“Can you walk?” I asked, putting a thin arm over his broad shoulder.
He bared his teeth—not at me, but at the situation—and nodded firmly. “Let’s go.”
We hurried out of the cell. He picked up the dagger I’d thrown as we passed it, and we headed for the exit with our weapons out.
Little John didn’t move fast. He was sluggish, eyes unfocused as he ran. Yet he persisted, being the sentinel he was, and I stayed close behind to make sure he would make it out of here alive.
I tried to block out what I’d seen. Tried to drown it away because I understood the desperate situation we were in.
I couldn’t. I knew, then, that I’d be recalling this moment in my nightmares for years to come.
I sniffled again, and John said nothing. His body tensed when he heard me softly crying.
Then we were at the door.
I poked my head out first. Motioned to him. “Come on,” I said, waving my hand. “We have a decoy. We need to get you to our carriage so we can stow you away and get you out of Nottingham. The others will be moving from the town square.”
He nodded curtly.
The sun blared overhead. I noticed how he recoiled from it. Still, we moved. Both exhausted, both in pain. My headache had subsided, but my brain felt rattled. He limped, yet didn’t complain.
We headed south—
And then Dan the Dove appeared round a corner. “Not that way,” he panted, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.
