Page 84 of Queen of Sherwood

I slid my blade into his chest three times in rapid succession to stop his squirming. Blood slashed across my face. Pleasure and glee filled me as my sword sank into his chest cavity, pierced his heart, and ended him. As the blood coated his chin in gurgling coughs, I grew warm and wet between the legs.

Not having time to think of the sadistic feeling that washed over me, I moved past him toward Jamie, who was fighting two guards by himself.

Jamie backpedaled into a tree trunk, looking over one of the guards’ shoulders at me.

It happened fast—one minute, our best carriage driver was working defensively, seemingly having everything in hand.

The next moment, he took a nick across the top of his palm, seethed, and spun to face that second attacker.

The first one sidestepped and plunged his blade into Jamie’s side, just below the ribs.

“No!” I screamed as I charged.

Jamie grunted, fell to one knee, and took a blade across the throat.

Blood sprayed, mere seconds before I got to him.

Tuck charged in beside me and with a quick one-two combo imprinted his sideways crosses into one man’s forehead—skull cracked and fractured as the man’s eyes went wild.

I took the second guard in quick jabs and slices.

The man gasped and reeled—

Directly into the skewering blades of Will Scarlet.

Robert and his men made quick work of the remaining guards, and within minutes everyone lay dead at our feet—including Jamie and two other Merry Men.

Three deaths to their fifteen.

The preemptive strike had been a major success, even with them being able to regroup and defend themselves.

I stormed toward the second carriage, stepping over dead bodies in the road. My blood pumped. Somewhere along the way I’d taken my own small wound across the forearm. It trickled blood down my wrist, my fingers, and around the handle of the sword I held.

I heard the loud voice of a man praying swiftly inside the carriage. “God, Your faithful servant seeks assistance. Urgently, Dear Lord, I need—”

My hand gripped the knob, expecting an imposter, an ambush, a dupe, a sword plunging at my belly.

“Robin, wait!” John commanded.

I swung the door open, ignoring him, the pulsing rage in my mind too loud to ignore.

My eyes widened.

It was no imposter, ambush, or dupe. There was no blade waiting for me.

There was only Bishop Sutton, sitting by himself in the carriage, veiled in white robes, hands clasping the large pectoral cross around his neck, lifting it high in front of his face as he prayed.

His closed eyes shot open in red-rimmed fear when I swung the door open. He gasped at the sight of me in the twisted moonlight.

I held my blade at his throat. His hands lifted high in surrender as he dropped the cross and the necklace amulet smacked against his robed chest.

“Hail, Bishop Sutton. Apologies for the interruption, but there’s a bit of a detour ahead.”

Chapter 23

Alan a Dale

Istayed in the shadows in Ravenshead, underneath an awning next to an old rickety shack someone called a house. A light drizzle had begun in this part of the forest, coating the hamlet in a low, gentle mist.

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