The Greenwood Shadow (28 page)

"YOU! They followed you! How could you! You led them here!"

"I did not lead them!" Lance replied, too defensively.

"What did you do, huh? Save Robin just so you could get all of us at once?"

"Marion. He fought them with us." Will tried to reason, but she was past that point.

She slowly stalked toward him with balled fists, and even John hesitated to restrain her again.

"Isaiah almost got killed again and both times were your fault! The last mission failed because you didn't tell us everything, and now this! We can't trust you at all!"

Before John could grab her, she shoved Lance. He lost his balance. She swung her fist violently. It connected squarely with Lance's face, and he toppled to the ground, where he hit his head hard. His hood flew off.

Will and John dropped to their knees almost instantly. Evey had never seen the man before.

"Well, what's all this groveling for?" she demanded.

Will answered cautiously. "It's Prince David."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The prince did a lot of eye rolling, while they crouched on the ground.

"Would all of you stand up?"

Evey and the others were too stunned to react. They just knelt there staring at the king's youngest son. She was in for it now. The prince still pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stem the blood flow.

"Will someone tell me what on earth is going on?" Isaiah shouted from under the tree. "I heard a fight, saw Marion tackle some guy right above my head, and now you're all standing around staring at each other. Explain please!"

"We might ask you the same thing, 'Isaiah'," Will replied.

Evey's stomach did twelve somersaults.

"Oh, come on," she said hastily. "You didn't expect that Robin Hood was his real name, did you?"

She hoped that it sounded disdainful, but she was somewhat panicked. She hadn't meant to shout his name to everyone.

"Well, I guess not." Will still sounded a little suspicious, but not enough to cause concern. Evey sighed with relief and walked over to Isaiah.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to. I was angry and I wasn't thinking. And then it was the prince, and I hit him, and then–"

"Slow down," he said calmly. "Beginning, please."

"Well, we were about to help you sit up, and those men attacked."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I got that far on my own, funnily enough."

"Well, there were three archers, and ten soldiers hidden behind them, plus the extra man that snuck up and tried to kill you. We beat them back, but then 'Lance' recognized them as the king's personal guard, from their livery."

He donned an understanding look. "Oh."

"Yeah. So I got mad at him and accused him of leading them here this morning. They obviously followed him anyway. I shouted your name, but I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. And then I punched him in the face. And, well, it was the prince. Our contact was Prince David. And I hit him!"

"Breathe," he replied, again just as calm as ever. "In. Out. That's it."

Evey took deep breaths in an attempt to quell the panic. Isaiah was the only person in the world that could have helped her calm down at that moment, and once again she was intensely glad that he was safe. The others gathered around Isaiah's bed, and Evey subtly locked her fingers around his during the commotion, drawing strength from his ever solid and reasonable demeanor.

He squeezed her hand just a little. "It doesn't matter, Marion. My name isn't important. Knowing it won't hurt anyone. I promise. But I'm sure all of you realize the value of continuing to call me Robin Hood. Not just for anonymity, but as a message to those we're resisting."

"Of course," John said.

Of the five of them, John seemed the most un-disturbed by the recent turn of events. Evey envied his ability to accept things so easily.

"So, Prince David," Isaiah stated. For a brief moment a flash of pain crossed his face, but he brushed it away and continued. "I never expected you. I'm sure you understand that we'll need a little explanation. Nothing personal, but the situation is rather suspicious."

"I am more than willing," the prince agreed. "You probably think one of two things. Either that I'm a spy, who set you up in order to capture you myself, and win glory in the eyes of my father, or that I am involving myself with you in opposition not only to my father, but to my brother, who will take the throne after him. That I am trying to fix the system in my favor."

Evey agreed with the last suggestion. It seemed the most obvious to her. But she noticed that both Will and John had nodded at the first. She wondered which Isaiah had suspected, but his face was a complete mask. Not just because of the one he wore over his eyes. There was a self-imposed stoic expression that she knew was hiding another surge of pain from his wounds.

"Are you okay?" she whispered. He nodded slightly, but didn't speak. The prince didn't notice the exchange, and continued his story.

"Well, I don't blame any of you for thinking these things. I am royal, and that is something to be mistrusted these days. But I hope you believe me when I tell you that neither are true. I am the youngest son, and that means that I will never get anything. People may not even remember that I existed, like they will with my brothers and father. But that isn't important to me. The only reason I could possibly want the throne is to fix what my father has destroyed, and I feel that there is still a chance to repair the damage without such a full scale revolution."

Evey cocked her head in interest.

"As you have undoubtedly guessed, my father isn't truly the king. Not anymore. There is a faction in the advising council that has effectively wrested all authority from him, while still leaving him as the figurehead and focus of the people's anger. He doesn't even realize it. He has been so blinded to current events that he thinks he is a wonderful king who loves and cares for his people. You and I know different.

"The leader of this faction, and the true culprit behind every tax and cruelty, is Sir Guy of Gisbourne. He has a few close associates, mostly from the military men in the council. With most of the knights in his pay, and the soldiers under his control, the king has very little power indeed."

"So," John said. "That's a real long-winded way to say 'the king lost his power to Sir Guy, and you're here to help him get it back, so's he can fix this mess."

"Well, basically," Lance - David - said.

"I knew it!" Evey shouted. "It had to be Gisbourne. The little–" She stopped herself before letting out a stream of unpleasant names, and re-focused on the prince. He smiled, and went on.

"As the youngest son, I have a unique position. I have no responsibility in the political affairs of the country, and no power to affect any change, but I am still privy to any and all information that comes through. I see and hear everything, while still being free to go about my business any way I choose. In the past few years, I have spent much of this time out among the people. Incognito, of course. And I have seen first hand the atrocities that have plagued this kingdom.

"That is why I searched you out. I know everything about the castle. I know what is going on, and what moves Sir Guy is making. And I also love this country. I want to make it what it used to be. And you are the ones that have the power to make a change. We need each other."

"You sure do like to make a speech of it," John muttered.

Evey thought for a moment, and found that she believed the story. Without the cloak hiding his face, she could see the honesty in it. He exuded an aura of trust and honor. For a moment she thought that he would make a wonderful king. But she realized that he was right about that. If it was possible to fix the problems without uprooting the system, they needed to take it.

Wow. She'd started to sound just like Emeric.

"Oh, and I have a favor to ask as well," the prince added. "From all of you."

"Yes?"

"Call me 'David', or 'Lance', or 'that guy', or whatever you like. But please don't call me highness, sire, majesty, or prince. I want to be a part of the team. Princes aren't teammates. There's always special treatment, and I don't want that. I'm one of you."

"I think we would be glad to, David," Evey agreed with a smile. She meant it, of course, but a tiny bit of her was relieved as well. Punching a team member in the nose was nowhere near as bad as punching a prince.

"Thank you."

"Well, that's that," she said.

She stood and turned toward the fire pit, but stopped in her tracks. She had forgotten about the dead men strewn on the ground. Men that she had helped kill.

No one else noticed her sudden discomfort. Will had already started toasting a bit of bread over the fire. John and David hauled some of the bodies out of the way with almost callous ease. How could they do it? These were men. Or had been, while alive.

The man at her feet had an arrow protruding from his forehead. Her handiwork. His eyes opened wide. The fear in them was still obvious, even through the glaze of death.

Evey turned around and took in several gasping breaths. Isaiah watched her with concern. She stumbled toward him and sat with her back to the battle scene.

He shifted just enough to look her in the eye. "What is it? Are you sick?"

Evey shook her head.

"You're not usually battle shy," he said.

His voice was so soothing. It calmed her a little.

"I've never killed a man before. Shot, maimed, knocked unconscious, sure. But killed?"

Isaiah rested his hand on her arm. "I see."

"He was alive five minutes ago, and now he's not. And it's directly because of me."

"Yes."

She laughed a little desperately. "'Yes'? Aren't you supposed to be the one who says something wise and un-guiltifying?"

He reached up and turned her face toward his. "Not this time."

They sat together in silence. There truly were no words to describe what she was feeling. But maybe there didn't have to be. If killing were easy...

Twenty minutes later, Isaiah got restless again.

"As a matter of practicality, we should move camp. Now, if we can," he said, sounding increasingly uncomfortable.

Evey glared at him. "We can't move you. It's too risky."

Isaiah glared back. "It's either try to move me and risk some pain, or don't move me and risk a bigger army coming to find us here."

"Oh."

"Unfortunately, he's right," David said. "We've got to get out of here as soon as we can."

Evey went through every possible idea on how to transport Isaiah to the new camp. He turned each one down with increasing grouchiness.

"Fine!" she yelled. "Why don't you just walk?"

"Alright, then, I will," Isaiah yelled back.

John and Will took a step backward.

"Over my dead body, you will."

She folded her arms. He narrowed his eyes and sucked in a heavy breath.

"Curse you, woman. You're so blasted stubborn."

Evey replied with a few words that no genteel woman ought to know.

Isaiah set his jaw and threw off his blanket. "Yeah? Well, you're not the only one who can be stubborn."

"Don't you dare! Don't you even!"

Isaiah grabbed hold of a nearby stick and heaved himself upright.

"You idiot, pig-headed..." Evey snapped the arrow she held.

It took more than a minute for him to haul himself into a pseudo-standing position. By the time he had, he was covered in sweat, and obviously in an enormous amount of pain. Despite that, he looked up at her with his eyes still narrowed and his jaw still set.

He was such an idiot! Why would he do that? What was going through that stupid, thick skull of his? She couldn't watch anymore, so she turned to storm away dramatically. At the far end of camp, John, Will, and David sat together on a log, watching the row with obvious amusement. Will bit into a venison sandwich.

"What?" she shouted.

Then she did storm away. Not too far. Just enough to prove a point. She leaned against the far side of a tree about fifty feet away from the camp and folded her arms again.

"Stupid," she muttered.

Not too long after, David found her.

"I think we should just let him. His legs are fine, after all. The only problem is that wound we took the arrow head out of, and it doesn't affect his stride. If we help him, then–"

Evey turned a sharp eye on him. "You can't be serious? He nearly died just one week ago, and you want to let him start walking around?"

David shrugged philosophically. "I think we have to. He is right, after all. With the way he'd be curled up, being carried by John would be acutely uncomfortable. And a bed wouldn't be stable. Anyway, the longer we wait to get him moving, the longer it will take his muscles to gain their strength back when we do."

Evey fixed him with a glare that would make most men submit, but David was a prince. He was used to confrontation, and Evey barely fazed him. She tried to stare him down, but it just didn't work.