Page 2 of Far From Sherwood Forest
The moment I land a hit to his side that has just a little of his weight lifting off me, I shove him further so I can slip out from under him and scramble backward. My head spins as I reach for my bow. Henry’s at least smart enough not to chase after me considering I can nock an arrow in one second flat. I already have one ready and aimed by the time he’s on his feet and drawing his sword, freezing with his hand on the hilt before it’s fully out of its scabbard.
For several seconds, we stare each other down. He stands a few feet away while I lie on the ground, the tip of my arrow pointed at his heart.
His intense, chestnut brown eyes bore into mine, his hair that’s the same shade of brown hanging wildly over his forehead. He’s bleeding from the fight back at the castle too—a cut above his brow, a gash in his arm. His chest heaves beneath his torn, dirty tunic. I’m probably in a similar state, if not worse off.
Wind whistles through the trees, a sudden gust disrupting the quiet and the stillness. The trees sway, and leaves dance past. It lasts for the briefest of moments before everything falls still again.
It feels less like a force of nature and more like an omen.
“So, what’s it going to be, Robin? Are you ready to end this?”
“Sure. I’m always looking for more target practice.”
“Is that what my cousin was?” he asks, his top lip curling in a snarl.
“Trust me, if I’d known he was your cousin, I’d have used a duller arrow.” Even though it hurts, I force my grin wider. “Made it last longer.”
Not only am I a thief, but I also have a knack for disguises, not just physical ones. I wear many masks. I’ve been in mourning for two weeks, and none of my men would guess that I’m ready to throw in the hood. I let them see only what I wantthem to see. I don’t hide the fact that I’m hurting, but I smile like it’s not slowly killing me from the inside out with every passing day.
However, another secret I’ve been keeping is that I want to take the mask off too. I’m tired of wearing it along with the hood. They’ve both grown too heavy.
I’m not built for this life without Marian by my side.
If I don’t even let my men see the truth, why on earth would I let the Sheriff see it?
Henry lets out an angry roar as he finishes withdrawing his sword.
I might be the master of the bow, but he’s damn good with a blade. I’d be a fool to let him get close to me with it.
He takes a step forward, and I move my bow two inches to the left, releasing the arrow before his foot is even back on the ground. It goes flying through the air, the sharp tip grazing his shoulder and ripping the fabric of his black coat. A piece of it is torn off and ends up pinned to the trunk of the tree that stands behind him. He peers back before his eyes narrow dangerously on me.
“What’s the matter, Robin? Don’t want to kill me?”
He knows I missed on purpose becauseI don’t miss.
“You weren’t worth the arrow.”
Truthfully, I don’t knowwhyI spared him or why I continue to spare him despite having had plenty of opportunities. I guess because if I kill him, that really is the end. He’s been my greatest adversary for years, and with him gone, there’d be no one left to fight.
No one left to chase me.
If there’s one thing I really have enjoyed all this time besides the look on the faces of those whose lives we make better, it’s the chase. The challenge.
Maybe there’s still a part of me that doesn’t want to loseallof it, that still needs some purpose to go on.
The thought of Henry being that purpose is laughable.
I suppose someone would just take his place. But then would it be as fun?
The Sheriff moves forward, and I’ve already pulled another arrow from my quiver and nocked it in my bow by the time he reaches me. However, by then, he’s too close for me to get a shot off, and his sword comes down on the shaft of the arrow, knocking it out of my grip as it and the bow fall to the dirt and leaves. With my weapon out of the way, he drops his own and leans down, grabbing the front of my shirt in both fists and lifting me easily off the ground.
Spinning me around, he forces me backward until my back slams against the same tree that my arrow struck, nearly impaling me on it. The air is once again forced from my lungs by the impact, but I don’t get the chance to recover before he yanks the arrow out of the trunk, the torn piece of fabric from his coat fluttering to the ground. Gripping the shaft of the arrow, he presses the tip against my throat.
“Youareworth the arrow,” he snarls, his warm breath and the scent of blood hitting me all at once.
I slap the grin back on my face even though I don’t think it’s faltered much this entire time. “You know how to make a man feel special.”
“How about I make you feel special by killing you with one of your own arrows?”
