Page 1 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

Hooves thunder across the hard earth beneath me as the dark bay horse I stole from Prince John’s stables gallops through Sherwood Forest. My Merry Men ride alongside me, and the Sheriff and his officers are hot on our heels.

Dirt kicks up behind us, and my mare snorts with every stride as I tug on her reins, urging her forward and directing her on a twisting path through the dense trees.

Little John taps his legs against his horse’s flanks, catching up until he’s riding next to me.

“What’s the plan here, Robin?” he asks, speaking loudly over the sound of hooves.

Truth be told, I didn’t have much of a plan when I decided we were going to visit Prince John’s castle today. It was less about raiding the royal treasury as usual and more about causing chaos and destruction.

Because apparently that’s how I grieve.

It’s been a fortnight since Marian was killed. Since I lost the woman I loved, the woman I was going to marry and spend the remainder of my life with.

So, yes, maybe I wanted to reciprocate pain with pain.

My men and I did what we do best, of course.

Several sacks of gold and silver hang off the saddles of our horses, their high-pitched clanging and jangling harmonizing with the deep rumbling of hooves.

But while my men went for the coin, I decided to fight because that’s all I wanted to do.

I wanted to fight, to bleed. To kill. To feel something other than my sorrow.

I’m pretty sure that last arrow I shot hit the Sheriff’s cousin. Not that it matters. The Sheriff is as responsible as the rest of them for Marian’s death.

Peering over my shoulder, I check to see how close our pursuers are before turning back to John. “We split up. You and the others head west. I’ll take the north path.”

“Robin—”

“We all know it’s me they really want. Now go!”

He rolls his eyes and lets out an angry grunt as he pulls on his horse’s reins, directing it to take a left turn through a break in the trees. He signals to Alan, Will, and Tuck, and they follow him.

A moment later, I hear the Sheriff shout behind me, “After them! I’ve got Hood.”

Well, that didn’t go quite as planned.

Leaning forward, I tap my legs against my horse and keep riding through the thicker parts of the forest as my hood whips around my face in the wind. I didn’t give myself the name—that was a gift from the Sheriff—but it’s one I’ve worn proudly for nearly two years.

Something I haven’t told my men yet?

I’m ready to hang the hood up for good.

I haven’t felt this kind of grief since returning early from King Richard’s Crusade to find my father dead. While his death made me put the hood on, Marian’s makes me want to take it off.

My horse leaps over a fallen tree, and her graceful yet hard landing rattles my teeth and makes me painfully aware of every ache in my body. I took several hits back at the castle from the guards, and every time I squint my eyes, I can feel dried blood crack across my forehead and down my temple.

None of it compares to the agony that fills my broken heart.

The sounds of the Sheriff’s horse grow closer, and I swear I can feel its hot breath on my back with every violent snort.

The next thing I know, a heavy body slams into me, knocking me off my horse as we both go crashing to the hard ground.

The air is punched from my lungs as the Sheriff’s entire weight falls on top of me.

Both our horses collide and stumble as they slow to a trot through the trees.

The Sheriff of Nottingham is not a small man. I’m not either. Neither one of us has anything on Little John, but the Sheriff does have several inches on me and a lot more muscle. Hard, heavy muscle.

And right now, the full weight of it all is crushing me.

Despite being completely out of breath, I smirk up at him and barely manage not to choke on the strained words I force out.

“If you wanted me alone, Sheriff, all you had to do was say so.”

“Go to hell, Robin.”

“Only if you come with me, Henry.”

He raises himself up, thick thighs straddling my waist, and I finally suck air into my stinging lungs just before his fist connects with my face.

My head makes solid contact with the hard ground beneath me, and fresh pain flares in my skull as though it’s been split in two.

Warm, wet blood trickles from my nose and over my lips.

Even as little bursts of light obscure my vision, I fight back. Where Henry’s always had me in strength, I have him in speed and agility.

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 want them 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 because I don’t miss .

“You weren’t worth the arrow.”

Truthfully, I don’t know why I 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 lose all of 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.

“You are worth 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?”

His nostrils flare as the sharpened point digs into the skin of my neck until I feel fresh blood trickling down the column of my throat. I bite back a grimace, smother my fear.

Another breeze passes between us.

Just when I’m sure he’s about to kill me, the drumbeat of hooves fills my ears again. We both turn our heads to see a galloping horse already mere feet away. We should’ve heard it sooner, but I think it was that strange wind that kept us in a kind of bubble.