Page 139 of Queen of Sherwood

“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.”

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