Chapter 38 | Robin
My eyes danced from enemy to enemy.
I cursed myself for leaving the safety of my men. However unsafe it was down the hill in that vicious battle, I was entirely worse off up here, alone.
I was a fool, as usual. And now it would cost me my life, I knew, because Sir Guy didn’t seem as appreciative and cordial as he’d been when he held me captive.
His dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight. Guy stood in front of his tent, arms crossed, as his three grunts circled me with their swords drawn.
The trio of soldiers snickered at me. I tried to face each of them, but they fanned out so I had to quarter-spin over and over to keep them in front of me.
There was no way I could take three experienced guards at once. My heart plummeted, knowing this was the end.
My Merciless Men would be so pissed when they found my dead body up here, riddled with sword strikes and garish wounds. They would curse the heavens and hopefully wreak havoc in my name.
That was, of course, if they survived the battle downhill. When I had left, it wasn’t looking good. I couldn’t imagine it was going to get any better.
I wanted nothing more than to be down there, dying with them. Up here on the cold hilltop, I had to fight back tears. The closeness of my mates was imperative to me, and I couldn’t imagine losing them without seeing their faces one last time.
“You had done so well for so long,” Guy said matter-of-factly, shaking his head. “Making all the right moves, little mouse.”
I blinked at him, staring into his handsome, gaunt face over the shoulder of one of the guards.
“What changed?” he asked, tilting his head. He hadn’t even drawn his weapon, because he clearly saw me as no threat. “Did you simply get impatient?”
I bared my teeth at them all. These fucking bastards. My legs were bent, and I felt like a caged, feral animal in that moment. No way to escape, no way to win. Defeat and anguish curled inside me, taking residence in my heart and soul.
“Why did you help us?” I asked loudly, if only so the guards would hear.
His thin brows jumped. “Help you? I’ve never helped you, Robin of Loxley. I’ve only helped myself.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Bullshit. We both know that isn’t true.”
“Can you convince the three men with swords pointed at you that what I say is false? Turn them against me, perhaps? Is that your goal?”
I flared my nostrils, saying nothing more. Trying to conserve my energy for the fight of my life.
He took a step forward, but there was still no way to get to him without going through these three well-trained, angry-looking men. “Why have you come here, little mouse? Answer me that.”
I curled my lip in a snarling smirk. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”
“Moments before your death? That’s commendable. Is my face the last one you’d like to see?”
“Oh yes, Sir Guy. I want nothing more than to see your face . . . so I can flay the skin from it.”
He tutted. “Quite graphic, lass. Have you always had a flair for the dramatic?”
“Quit talking to me. I can’t concentrate with you babbling. You know exactly why I’m here, Gisborne.”
“Aye. To end Sheriff George, I presume. What do you think about that, sir?”
Guy stepped aside . . . and Sheriff George exited the tent behind him—exited Guy’s tent, not his own larger command tent.
My eyes bulged. A combination of righteous indignation and fear swallowed me whole, breaking gooseflesh along my arms and neck.
He’s here. I don’t have to kill these guards, then—I just have to get to him to finish this!
The smarmy bastard smiled at me with his insignificant face contorting in a leisurely grimace. “I think it was a foolhardy move, though I do appreciate the bravery.”
He tapped his chin. He epitomized casual cruelty to the perfect degree. It made my blood boil.
“All this work from you tireless rogues, just to throw it all away,” George said with a sigh. “A shame, really. I thought you were a better adversary than that.”
My brow furrowed. I tried to think of something, anything. “You won’t get Bishop Sutton back if you kill me.”
“Oh. Right. Him.” George shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve put Sutton behind me. Sadly, his usefulness came to an end when you took him from me.”
“Lies. You need—”
“I need nothing from you, Robin of Loxley. You are an insect on the bottom of my heel. When will you see that? All of you valiant bandits are inconsequential, and little more than an annoyance to me.”
The man was so full of shit it was pouring out of his mouth. I knew how much we had vexed him in the past—the execution, the raids, the riot. Stealing his precious cargo, both sex slaves and money.
It was no use pointing it out, though, because he was only trying to get a rise out of me. Tire me before I could try anything drastic.
Sheriff George was ten paces from me. Standing by his side was Guy, the best swordsman in the land. His hand hadn’t crept close to the hilt of his blade, yet, though I knew it would if I got anywhere close to them.
George’s eyes darkened with a flash of malice. The jesting expression on his face changed into something dangerous, unpredictable, and . . . recognizable.
The same expression he held when I caught him assaulting Little John.
My blood curdled.
In a low voice, George called across the hilltop: “You are right about one thing, Robin. What do I gain from having you killed . . . without anyone knowing about it?”
“Rid yourself of the queen bee, and you bring down the whole hive,” Guy replied. “Who cares where she’s killed, or when she’s found? Your answer is in the honey, George.”
“Aye, captain, but where’s the fun in that?”
A flicker of doubt chased across Guy’s face as he gave Sheriff George a sidelong glance. If I didn’t know better, I’d think his body had gone still and taut. Or maybe that was just the cold up here in the wind.
“Take her, men,” George said, nodding toward me with that vicious growl. “Disarm the little pest.”
I swallowed hard. My throat had gone dry. My stomach dropped and my heart pumped.
Yet I managed to remain calm as the three soldiers advanced. They wore the same cruel smiles on their faces that George did. These four were one and the same—tyrants ruled by a despot.
“The Merry Men will have your head, Sheriff George of Nottingham.” I made myself taller, throwing aside my fears of death.
If this was going to be my end, then I’d go down fighting. I wouldn’t beg for mercy or challenge him to a duel—something I knew he’d never do.
At his core, Sheriff George was a small, weak little man. Frail in every way. He raped John because he wanted to bring the strong, gallant bandit down to his size. He wanted John to feel, for once, how he felt all the time.
I just wished I had him alone. I wished I had managed to sneak up here unbidden, torn into his tent, and slit his throat without any questions asked.
The mission in my mind had been so clear and simple. Yet, in the execution of it, we had walked ourselves into another trap.
With a sigh, I gestured the soldiers forward with a curl of my hand. Taunting them.
They charged as one.
I swung at the first, screeching to try and deafen him.
He barreled into me and knocked my blade aside.
The second guard came in and kicked me in the stomach. The air whooshed from my lungs and I lurched back, kneeling.
I swung a fist on my way down, and my vision doubled. I blinked away the pain, seething as I stared up at the men from my back leg, with my ass biting into my heels.
“Just where we want her, boys,” said the guard who had kicked me. He strode forward. The other two snickered.
Rage pulsed inside me. I lunged forward in a charge—
Except this time, my rage failed me. My arms felt weak and heavy; my shoulders burdened by an impossible weight. My blade came reeling back in a wide arc, aimed to keep them at bay.
The third soldier simply batted my sword away again, this time knocking his boot against my wrist.
With a yelp, my sword went flying. It thudded to the ground nearby.
For all the darkness and hate taking root inside me, I had no outlet for it. I felt I was going to explode from the inside out.
Before I could implode, one of the guards rushed forward.
I gasped, putting my hands up to defend myself.
He caught my wrists.
Another one kicked me in the ribs, and I groaned and spurt a bit of blood from my mouth. Pain wrenched through my insides. My eyes rolled.
I struggled and writhed, crying out with every fiber of my being. Angry tears scalded my cheeks, burning hot and fierce.
“You may have dressed like a man in the past, but you’ll always be a silly, simple woman,” George said. His voice sounded faraway and frightening. Dooming.
One guard held me by the wrists.
The second pushed me onto my back.
And the third ripped my tunic from my neck, taking my cloak with it.
The air brushed chill against my bared breasts.
I shrieked in rage, in fear, knowing what was coming.
But then the third soldier stepped aside, while the other two kept me held down.
Shamefully, my nipples pebbled in the cold night. I stared up at the shadow that descended over me—
Sheriff George, his white grin slicing through the dark silhouette of his body. He went to a crouch like a wolf, a mindless animal, and crawled over my body.
I whimpered when his treacherous face crept inches from mine. He spoke softly in my ear, keeping me pinned with his knees as he straddled me.
“I’ll let you die soon enough, Robin of Loxley. But after how much frustration and annoyance you’ve caused me? I’m going to have my fun with you, first . . .”