Page 77 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“What do I care about that?” Gisborn said, rising to stand beside the sheriff’s men. “All my life I’ve had nothing! But now… now look at me. I am master of Greenwood! I have a sheriff in my pocket, I have access to the full coffers of the proud and honorable Mr. Prinley St. John. Ha! You are a fool, but wise enough to understand something. You clearly know that I have no intention of paying you back for any of it.”
One of Reeve’s men had been holding a pistol. Gisborn grabbed it from him and aimed it straight at Uncle Prinley’s heart. Meg squealed in terror and Aunt Regina threw herself in front of her husband. Marianne leaped to her feet and would have run at Gisborn, but now he swung the pistol around to aim it at her.
A deep voice boomed from the far end of the huge dining hall. Gisborn froze.
“Drop it now or you’re a dead man, Gisborn!”
It was Robert. He stood at the back of the room beside Mr. Muchleigh. The miller held up a truly ancient looking musket, and Robert held a bow. An arrow was nocked at the ready and his eye was on Gisborn’s heart.
Gisborn took in the sight and only registered mildshock. If anything, his expression showed more signs of annoyance.
“I’m not quite as dead as you hoped I would be,” Robert snarled.
“What sort of world is it when hired help can’t even carry out a simple task?” Mr. Gisborn grumbled. “Welcome back, sir. In case you don’t know it, I’ve left your employment. I’m the master now! And this… this is my mistress.”
He lunged for Marianne and grabbed her by the arm. He dragged her to stand next to him, the pistol jammed under her chin. It was cold and sent shivers over every inch of her. Robert seemed to have good control over that arrow, but she realized it would do little good as long as Gisborn was using her as a shield.
“Arrest them,” Gisborn ordered.
The men looked to Mr. Reeve. He nodded for them to move toward Robert. They froze in place, though, when several other men suddenly appeared from the darkened doorway where Robert had entered.
His companions from the forest stepped into view, all of them. And one extra, too. They each held a pistol.
“Sorry, Sheriff,” Robert said. “You’re the one under arrest. My young friend, Mr. Grover, happened to be taking a walk through the forest today. Imagine his surprise when he witnessed you murdering Mr. Dent.”
Uncle Prinley whirled on the sheriff and practically shouted. “You!You murdered my lawyer? Why… I rescind my consent. You willnotbe marrying my daughter!”
Meg sniffled. No one in the room moved. Mr. Reeve’s men seemed to want to defend their sheriff,but they did not have weapons at the ready. Clearly Robert wanted to take them into custody, but Marianne had a gun to her throat. Gisborn ordered everyone to stay where they were, or he would shoot her. She did not at all like the sound of that.
“Leave her alone, Gisborn,” Robert ordered. “Let her go or, I swear, you’ll be dead before you can pull the trigger.”
Gisborn just laughed at him. His hot breath was moist and sticky on her neck. It was more than she could take from him. She felt almost faint.
In fact, perhaps fainting would be a good thing just now. Gathering all of her courage, she suddenly buckled her knees, allowing herself to drop through his grip. She dislodged the pistol and, for good measure, swung back her elbow as she dropped to the floor. She connected quite forcefully with his groin. The man fumbled his pistol and howled in pain.
She was on the floor now, but not entirely free. It took a moment, but he regained control over the gun. His fist clenched tight around it and he pointed it toward her. Pure hatred burned in his eyes.
And then it was horror. He staggered backward, the pistol fired with an ear-shattering crack. Marianne shut her eyes and pulled tight into a ball.
Something clattered to the floor near her, then there was a staggering thud. Meg and Aunt Regina screamed. Many feet were suddenly running from all directions. Another pistol fired, more scuffling and shuffling. Chairs crashed and dishes on the table rattled.
Their lovely dinner was quite ruined.
But Marianne realized she was not shot. She opened her eyes to find everything changed. Gisbornhad crumbled to the floor, moaning. An arrow had gone into his chest. Mr. Reeve was not far away; he too was on the floor, but he was not moaning. A pistol lay near him, as harmless as his lifeless body. The man had taken his own life rather than face justice for committing murder.
Without their leader, the sheriff’s men huddled together, also helpless as Robert’s men surrounded them and brandished their own weapons. Robert had dropped his bow and was beside Marianne, kneeling and stroking her hair.
“Are you injured?” he asked frantically.
“I’m fine,” she said, struggling to right herself. “But what… you shot Mr. Gisborn!”
“I did. He was going to kill you.”
“But… you shot him with an arrow!”
“I did.”
She glanced over at his handiwork. “That was a good shot.”
