Page 143 of Queen of Sherwood

Briggs, John, Tuck, and Alan joined the fray with shouts of their own. We charged toward at least six fresh soldiers, ready to put a stop to them.

I looked away from the center duel for one split second—

And a triumphant bark split the night.

Eyes turned—

As a helmeted head careened through the sky, reflecting moonlight.

My mouth fell open. Sir Amadeus Montford’s head whirled in the air, his final expression of death forever masked by that full helmet covering his face.

There was a stunned moment of silence.

“Give God my condolences,” Gregory said to the swaying, headless body of the Templar Knight.

The soldiers nearest Gregory turned their ire on him, even as Montford’s white-garbed frame toppled to the ground.

A blade plunged into Gregory’s side. Another into his arm.

“No!” Little John yelled.

Gregory staggered. The soldiers jumped on him en masse.

I closed in on them with John and the others.

“Stay back!” Gregory shouted, and then slanted his blade in a wide arc that took a man’s knees away from him and forced the others shuffling back from his treacherous, oversized sword.

He bled in a thousand places. From his mouth, down his chin, Sir Gregory spit blood and grinned a wicked smile at the enemies.

He charged forward, despite his legs barely keeping him upright.

I glanced over at Little John, lost as to what we were supposed to do.

“Robert!” Gregory cried.

I glanced around the bloody field. Hadn’t seen any arrows or signs of the Oak Boys leader in . . . minutes. I only recognized Robert’s absence after Gregory called out his name.

I locked eyes with John, pitying, and we both shook our heads.

I wanted to push forward. It was six against one, and Gregory was going to collapse at any moment.

Except he struck such a fierce presence with his cloak fluttering, his body bleeding, his sword held high along his cheek. Like a monolith of strength and a paragon of virtue. He was such an authoritative figure there, creating a wall between us and our enemies, that I was stunned still.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do on the battlefield: heed his command to stay back? Or pile in with the other Merry Men and try to finish this?

“Robert, my son!” Gregory yelled again, more emphatically this time. His voice echoed through the woods.

Over his shoulder, he spoke to us. To everyone. To God. His voice trembled the heavens.

“Let an old man find peace on the battlefield, you wretched dogs . . . and go find . . . my fucking . . . niece!”

Chapter 40

Robin

Sheriff George groped at my breasts, licking my face with his disgusting tongue. He kept his knees pinned on either side of me, straddling my hips, and fumbled with the front of his pants.

The three soldiers snickered cruelly as they held my arms down and watched.

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