Page 88 of Far From Sherwood Forest

“Henry, stop.”

I take a few steps forward but resist the urge to close the rest of the distance between us because I at least know him well enough by now to recognize when he’s feeling vulnerable, orcloseto feeling vulnerable. And to understand that he doesn’tlikefeeling that way.

“Look, I know you have an aversion to talking about things, but you know you can, right? Talk to me, I mean.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he turns back to Marley. “It’shard to talk sometimes. I spent so long without having anyone around who could talk back.”

“Is that why you came out here?” I ask, smiling as my gaze moves between him and Marley. “To talk to the horses?”

I’m relieved when that seems to pull a grin from him. “I guess so.”

He reaches up to start stroking Marley’s muzzle again, and I stay quiet, being patient and giving him time. It eventually pays off.

“I was never close to any of the horses me and my family had back in Nottingham,” he starts as he stares into Marley’s eyes while he pets her. “I never got attached. They were just horses, nothing more. It was the same with the horse that came here with me. At least…until she was all I had. She was old when we arrived, and she died after a couple of years. Isolde. That was her name.” He swallows thickly, and his voice cracks on his next words. “I fucking miss her.”

My heart breaks for him. My eyes sting, but I don’t want to cry. I don’t want him to see tears and translate them as pity.

“It must have been awful to lose her. I’m so sorry.”

He sucks in a breath through his nose. “I’ve been an anhedonic bastard for most of my fucking life. Spending time with Isolde in those two years was the first time I think I ever truly enjoyed something.”

“Henry—”

“Don’t, Robin.” He drops his hand once more and turns his body to face me. “I don’t need more apologies. I’m to blame as much as anyone.”

“What does that mean?”

His gaze flicks to the floor between us. The temptation to go to him is stronger than ever, but he’s finallytalkingto me. It’s like he’s a wild animal, and one wrong move could spook him.

“I was terrified of facing this world on my own. My owncowardice is why I spent those two years alone, why I should’ve only blamed myself this whole time.”

“I would’ve been scared too. I was still scared anyway.” It’s easy enough to admit because it’s the truth. I have no idea what I would’ve done without John. There’s a good chance I would’ve ended up just like Henry. “I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of.”

“Shame.” He scoffs, a self-deprecating laugh, and shakes his head. “I have plenty to be ashamed of.”

“Tell me we’re not one of them.” It comes out as more of a desperate plea than I intend. “Because I’d really like to touch you right now.”

He stares at me as though he has to think about it, which makes me sad until he answers.

“Surprisingly, that’s the thing I’m least ashamed of. I guess I already bled all of that religious trauma out of me.”

Something nasty twists my insides until they’re in painful knots.

Please be wrong.

I ask the same question I did before, but the words come out heavier this time. “What does that mean?”

His shoulders slump, and his eyes seem to droop like he’s tired. Like his soul itself is exhausted. I think what he does next is because he’s so worn down by keeping parts of himself hidden, by carrying the weight of it all alone.

Slowly, he turns around. The muscles in his back ripple as he raises the hem of his shirt and lifts the whole thing up and over his head, letting it slip from his fingers onto the ground at his feet. He stands there, his back to me as it shudders with a breath, exhaling like taking the shirt off released some of that weight.

As I stare at the map of whip marks on his back, I can’t stop the tears from coming anymore. One slips from the corner of myeye and slides down my cheek.

“You did that?” I ask, my voice small and shaky.

“I was going to do a lot worse. This was only a punishment for having darker thoughts.”

I swear my heart splits right open and spills its guts behind my ribs. I don’t want to ask what he means this time. I don’t know if I can bear to hear it. But I know Ihaveto hear it.