Page 145 of Queen of Sherwood

One of them managed to get a glancing blow along his side, and Sir Guy winced before carving a thin strike across the man’s throat.

Guy’s sword was so precise and surgical that the cut didn’t show for a second—just a black line across white flesh.

Then the wound split open in the next second, and the soldier gurgled blood and went to his knees, clutching his neck.

The final guard looked around, over both shoulders, and still had an expression of awe and disbelief on his face. “Help!” he screamed. “Hegrrck.”

He was silenced by the whistling arc of Sir Guy’s sword.

Once the three men were dead at his feet—four, counting Sheriff George—he crouched beside me.

Using one hand from Guy, and all my strength, we shoved George’s corpse completely off me. I took in a shallow breath, gasping for air.

Guy smiled down at me. It was not a kind smile, or a helpful one. It was the typical mysterious sort of grin I’d come to expect from the gaunt man.

This time, though? How could I have ever expected him to kill his master in order to save me?

I was flabbergasted.

On the other side of the hill, to the north near Ravenshead, a loud bell went off and reverberated through the sky.

Guy stuck out his hand and I took it. He helped me to my knees. I chanced a look over my shoulder and saw the alarms going off downhill, bright dots of lit torches littering the horizon.

“Seems you are discovered, little mouse.”

I blinked at him in stupefaction. “. . . Why?”

His brow furrowed. “Either your mates down the hill were loud enough to wake the dead with their little skirmish, or the man I just killed had quite a hefty voice on him when he yelled for help. Who knows, for sure?”

The utter asshole. “You know that’s not what I mean, Guy. Why did you help—”

“I told you once before. I’ve never helped you, Robin. I’ve only helped myself . . .” Guy reached forward with his free hand, and I tensed with a sharp gasp. He was reaching for my chest . . .

Only so he could grab the flapping bits of torn cloth and close them at the middle, hiding my breasts.

Our eyes locked.

His lips curled in a smirk.

A quick tug of his brow filled his face with surprise, shock, and I heard a sound like the wind wheezing.

“Fuck.” Guy looked down.

I followed his eyes.

An arrowhead protruded from his collar, out his chest, dripping blood.

Guy frowned. “That’s unfortunate.”

With a yelp, I sat up completely, peering over Guy’s shoulder.

My brother stood fifty paces away, bow in hand, nocking another arrow, a stern expression like stone on his face.

“Robert! No!” I shouted.

All Robert could see was Guy’s hand shoved against my chest as he helped close my ripped tunic.

But of course it looked entirely different to someone so far away. It looked like, well, four dead bodies lying in pools of their own blood next to me, with our most inimitable enemy fondling me.

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