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Another arrow whizzed by, taking him in the chest. He let out a puff of a grunt.
My eyes veered, following the trajectory—
And locked with a young soldier who was already drawing another arrow from his quiver.
I bared my teeth, bellowing—
And he shot at me.
I lifted my arm and the bone of my forearm jarred with pure anguish, clawing through me as weakness settled inside.
I fell to my back, then took my dying comrade by the collar of his armor and started dragging him toward the stairs where I could give myself some cover.
The soldier raised his bow again—
A blur of something flying end-over-end from the stage—
The soldier went down with a dagger stabbing into his shoulder, blood spurting in a slant over his head. He let out little more than a yelp before slumping backward.
I looked up and gave Will Scarlet a nod of thanks, even as he shrugged his crimson sash tight around his neck and drew another dagger to replace the one he’d just thrown at my attacker.
I looked down once I was hiding behind the wooden stairs that led up to the gallows. For a moment, I had respite, and I appraised my wounds.
I hurt all over—leg, torso, arm. In my furious battle-lust, I’d lost myself. Now it was starting to come crashing down. If I didn’t keep fighting, I’d collapse from sheer exhaustion.
I looked down at the head in my lap and saw Edmund—Crisp—staring up at me with glassy eyes.
Sighing, my bloody hand and knuckles trembled as I closed his eyes. “May God forgive you, brother,” I muttered.
Shuffling behind me.
I wheeled in a split second, raising my fists—
And stared down at the cowering figure of an elderly man in a white robe, now dirtied and covered in mud and grime from the upheaval of battle. His worn face was worried but not scared—a man of God never feared death. Especially not one as righteous and holy as this one.
“Bishop Sutton,” I rasped.
“Tucker.”
I was on my knees in front of him. He was on his back, scooted as far away from me as possible—a few feet, shoved against the base of the stage and trying his best to hide from the calamity around him.
Hiding. Like a coward . . . for anyone but a man of the cloth.
I knew he’d have no weapon on his person. My eyes narrowed on him regardless, as I recalled him from my past.
Sutton’s eyes flashed wide.
I lowered my fist.
“You aren’t going to do me in, after I just witnessed you kill so many?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Those men were trying to kill me.”
His head tilted. “How can you know I’m not?”
A smile quirked my lips. “Please, Father. Don’t insult me.”
His wrinkled, worried face smoothed for a moment, as the rare hint of a smile showed on his lips. A smile I’d never been able to get out of him in the past.
