Page 23 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

Three years ago.

Day six hundred and ninety-one.

It took almost three days to dig a horse grave. By myself. With a shovel.

Isolde was already an old horse when we showed up here nearly two years ago. Back in Nottingham, that’s all she was to me. Just a horse. Here? She was the only companion I had.

And now she’s gone.

I stand beside the mound of packed earth, leaning on the shovel because my entire body feels weak. My skin is caked with dirt and sweat. The heat from the sun burns my bare back, but I can’t bring my feet to move. My vision is blurry from the tears I refuse to let fall.

I won’t even say how I managed to get a nine hundred pound horse inside its grave by myself.

There’s a part of me that wants to say goodbye to her, that wants to speak those words out loud. But would my voice even work?

I don’t try.

My knees nearly buckle when I put my full weight on them, but I manage to stay upright as I turn and head toward the shed that’s on the property. It’s a decent size, and I had been using some of the space as a horse stall.

I have no idea why whoever owns this place hasn’t been here in almost two years, but I’m not going to question the only saving grace I have left.

Entering the shed, I return the shovel to its spot against the side wall. I try—I try really fucking hard not to look over at Isolde’s stall. But I fail, and grief crashes straight into my chest like a boulder.

I’ve never mourned the loss of a horse before. Even when the one I had since I was a child passed on nearly ten years ago, I felt little more than indifferent.

This time, I’ve lost the only thing I’ve loved for two years. This time, the grief threatens to crush me until I’m nothing more than dust.

Now I really am all alone.

As that fact hits me, my gaze drifts over to the back wall, to the rope hanging on the hook. It’s instinct at this point, something I can’t fight. It’s a thought that’s popped into my mind more and more often, an image of that rope wrapped around my throat, my feet dangling off the ground.

My stomach churns until I feel sick.

I know it’s just as much my fault. I’ve stayed here for years. Isolated myself. But it’s because I’m scared. Terrified . The idea of facing this strange world alone has the blood freezing in my veins.

I’m a fucking coward.

Every day, I wake up hoping this was all a horrible nightmare.

That I’ll open my eyes to the familiar scratch of a straw-stuffed mattress beneath me, the smell of damp stone and burning wood.

That I’ll hear the blacksmith hammering in the distance or the bells from the chapel calling the village to mass.

Instead, everything is quiet until I turn on the television, see the glare of a screen, and hear the unfamiliar way people speak, their words sharp but hollow.

I’m a relic dragged from the grave of history, and I’ve seen what happens to things that don’t belong.

As I stare at the rope, unable to pull my eyes away, I think about how much easier it’d be to leave this world completely instead of trying to find my place within it.

And that’s when I know what I have to do.

Turning around, I take what I need off the workbench behind me, then drop to the ground on my knees. I made this whip from rope, and it’s been the tool of God’s punishment every time I have these thoughts.

These dark, selfish, cowardly thoughts for which I need to pay penance.

The rope strikes my back with a sharp snap, and I grit my teeth as it hits scar tissue. The sting flares, then melts into a dull burn that spreads. It’s not enough. I do it again, my knuckles turning white around the rope as I let out a hiss. Another strike, and my breath catches.

I half expect the pain to carve it out of me—those thoughts, this weakness. The stain on my soul.

But it doesn’t. It lingers.

As the rope rains down harder, Robin’s face swims in my mind.

The image surprises me enough to give me pause.

But then I remember. I had that same fucking dream last night, the one I’ve had too many times before.

I’ve never been able to make sense of it, but it makes me feel as though I deserve this punishment even more.

For thinking I could forgive a thief just so I wouldn’t have to be alone.

For daring to dream that the man who left me to this fate would be the one to save me.

The rope falls from my hand, and I pitch forward until my forehead is pressed against the dirty floor, my breath ragged. My back throbs, wet with sweat. Maybe blood.

I stay there, never wanting to come back up.

Waiting to feel like something other than sin wrapped in skin.

Present day.

I used to have these dreams. Well, one dream. It came to me over and over during those two years I lived alone in that cabin. Mercifully, they stopped after Ivy found me.

Robin Hood was the most familiar thing to me in this world. The only familiar thing. My subconscious seemed to latch onto that, to him . I always liked to believe that I’d find him one day, that I’d get to take my revenge.

In my sleep, he was the one to find me . He was just there . I wasn’t alone anymore.

It was nothing more than that. It’s not like I thought about him in the ways I have recently.

I still hated him, but I didn’t hate him in my dreams.

After leaving the cabin, those dreams changed to nightmares. Robin saw my scars, and those memories visited me while he was in my bed, the same ones that have been haunting me ever since.

But then something different happened.

That dream I hadn’t had in years came right after. He picked me up off that dirty ground and told me everything would be okay. I woke up clinging to him like he was my lifeline. I let myself have that moment, briefly holding him tighter, giving into those dreams I used to hate so much.

And then it was over, and I took him home while the sun was rising.

That was a few days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.

Not that it bothers me. I told myself it would be one time, and I meant it. The only problem is that he’s not out of my system. Not even close. If anything, he takes up even more space.

On the positive side, I haven’t missed more work, needing the distraction more than anything right now.

Leaning back in the chair in my office, I take a sip of coffee. I’m just finishing up replying to a few emails before I go out on patrol. As much as I hate this part with the damn computer, at least I’m too busy to focus on my hate of other things.

“Hey, buddy!”

My eyes snap up, and I nearly drop my mug when I see Ivy standing in the doorway. I haven’t seen her since I first transferred to Colorado, and I wasn’t expecting her to just show up. I haven’t even heard from her in a couple of months.

“Ivy?” I set my coffee down on the desk, not having had nearly enough of it for an early morning surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, Henry,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

As she takes a step forward, her gaze sweeps the bare, undecorated room.

She looks the same as the last time I saw her, her black hair the same length, a few small braids throughout.

She wears a pair of strange patchwork pants in shades of green and a black top.

Ivy has always been beautiful in an odd kind of way, but I’ve never seen her as anything other than a friend. And barely that.

I honestly never expected to be attracted to another person again, which is just another reason my attraction to Robin Hood of all people confuses me.

Shoving thoughts of Robin away, I narrow my eyes. “Seriously. You never just show up like this. What’s going on?”

“Can’t a girl visit her bestie without having ulterior motives?” She plops down in the chair opposite me and places her Converse-covered feet on top of my desk, causing my jaw to clench. “I was in the neighborhood, and I hadn’t heard from you in a while. Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“You’re very intrusive.”

“I’d like to think of it as invested.”

I suppose I can’t blame her since she is the reason I’m out in the world after all. Still, it’s a bit annoying when I hate talking. About anything . Somehow, Robin keeps getting me to talk to him, which only makes me want to close myself off even more.

“You haven’t given me any updates or asked me to transfer you out of here.

Consider my curiosity piqued. You haven’t done what you wanted.

You’re sticking around.” She drops her feet and leans forward, tilting her head as she pins with me with a sparkle in her eyes. “Change your mind about Robin Hood?”

Looking away, I grind my teeth until they’re at risk of cracking. Just like me. Cracking right down the middle between killing Robin or kissing him.

“It’s just not worth it anymore,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “There are bigger problems out there.”

“Like bears?”

My eyes jolt back to her. “Excuse me?”

“You know, the one that attacked you. The one that Robin saved you from.”

A heat starts to boil in my chest, the pressure in my jaw rising. “One, Robin did not save me.” Leaning forward, my scowl deepens as dread and suspicion coil around my spine. “Two, I never told you about that bear.”

Ivy sucks her lips between her teeth like she’s just let slip the world’s biggest secret.

I think she might have.

Standing, I start to slowly round the desk as I keep my eyes fixed on her. “Do you want to tell me how the fuck you knew about that?”

“What are you talking about?” She laughs as she gets to her feet and moves behind the chair. Her laughter sounds uncomfortable, but there’s something in her eyes that contradicts it, a kind of mischievous gleam. “You told me, silly.”

“I most certainly did not. And if you don’t explain to me what the hell is going on right the fuck now, I’m going to make you regret it.”

She frowns, but it’s exaggerated. “Come on, Henry. We’re friends.”

“Not right now we’re not.”