attacker across the jaw, enough to stop their struggling.
The voice came again. 'I'm… I'm sorry.' A whimper this time. 'My Elaine… I… I had to do something.'
Robert kept the man's hands pinned down as he heard voices outside the tent. Light filled the space, torches shone in. 'What's going on?' asked Jack. Robert turned, though it hurt his neck to do so, and saw Tate there too – plus a couple of his other men – alerted by the sounds of the struggle. He opened his mouth to speak but found it hard to get the words out. Luckily, the man he was holding down answered their questions quickly enough.
'Dead or alive… that's what they said. The Sheriff doesn't care which,' gibbered Mills, the man who'd come into the camp and told them about the raids. Only he'd withheld that one crucial piece of information.
'Jesus,' Jack whispered. 'You traitorous-'
'I did it for my Elaine,' protested Mills. 'They're going to kill her. And… and your plan, it's never going to work in a million years.'
Jack huffed. 'You think so?'
'I know so. They'll be expecting something… De Falaise will murder the hostages.'
'Weren't…' croaked Robert, then coughed. He turned to the man again. 'Weren't you listening earlier? He'll murder them anyway.'
Mills shook his head, not willing to accept the truth. The next stage was lashing out again. 'It's your fault they took her in the first place! All this is your fault. It's you he wants! If only you'd left them well enough alone to do what they wanted.'
'You'd have been even further up shit creek, pal,' argued Jack, then looked over at Tate. 'Sorry, Rev.'
The holy man wasn't really listening, he was too fixated on the scene before him.
Robert rolled off Mills, and rubbed his windpipe. The man didn't try to get up, didn't even try to escape. Jack and the others came and grabbed hold of him, dragging him away from Robert. 'Don't hurt him,' their leader managed.
'Hurt him? I know what I'd do, given half a chance,' Jack told Robert.
'He was just scared for the person he loved.'
Another snort. Then Jack told them to take Mills away and put a guard on him. He knew too much about what they were planning for them to just let him go.
Tate came fully inside, leaning heavily on his stick, and waited for Robert to look up. 'If…' Robert coughed. 'If that's an… an example of support in the villages, we don't stand a chance.'
'You don't believe what he said, do you?'
'Trying to assuage your guilt, Reverend?' Robert said in broken words, massaging his throat.
'Guilt?'
'About persuading me to do this – setting all this in motion.' Robert coughed again.
'It wasn't me who persuaded you, Robert.'
He fixed Tate with a stare. 'People are probably going to die because of me. You do know that, don't you? Maybe even Mark.'
'And how many live today because of you, answer me that? How many of the men out there have a purpose now?'
'I'll probably get them killed as well.'
'It's their choice to follow you. Their decision. In a broken world like this, you should feel proud of that.'
There was someone else at the flap of the tent, a female face, and Robert looked past Tate, locking eyes with Mary. 'I just saw that man Mills being taken away and…' She rushed over and knelt down beside Robert. 'You're hurt.'
He waved a hand to let her know he was okay, aware of the half-smile on Tate's face. 'Remember what I said, Robert,' said the Reverend, then left.
Mary watched him go. 'What's he talking about? What went on here?'
But Robert didn't answer her, because he didn't quite understand it himself.
It was somehow connected to a dream he'd been having before he felt Mills' hands at his throat, that much he did know.
Though whether good or evil had won this particular battle, he couldn't really say.
The knock roused him from his slumber.
He saw a shape almost on top of him – looming over. Hands were reaching down. It brought back flashes of the dream he'd been having. A struggle of some kind, a fight with The Hooded Man. They'd had each other by the neck, each fighting to squeeze the life out of the other.
But this was no man – it was the woman from Hope. His doll. And she wasn't trying to strangle him, he saw that now. No, she was shaking him, rousing him even further from his sleep. Pointing to the door.
Or was that just a cover for what she'd really been about? It was unlike her to be so animated, certainly in the bedroom.
De Falaise looked at her suspiciously. Then he rose, pushing her to one side.
'Oui, oui… I am coming,' he shouted, pulling on his gown as he marched over to the door. 'This really had better be good.'
Tanek was standing there. 'It is.'
For the briefest of seconds De Falaise noted the bigger man's interest in what was beyond him: the body of the naked woman on the bed. That made him feel good, the fact that even his right hand wanted what he owned. Perhaps he would hold onto her just that little bit longer – especially if she was becoming more… responsive.
'So?'
'A boy,' Tanek said simply.
'What?' De Falaise rubbed his tired eyes. 'What are you talking about?'
'Javier recognised him when we brought the new prisoners through.'
De Falaise frowned. 'As who?'
'One of Hood's gang.'
The Frenchman beamed from ear to ear. 'Really? You are sure? Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I will be with you.'
De Falaise closed the door and clapped his hands. 'Did you hear that, mon cherie? It would appear that we have an added bargaining chip.' He began to put on his clothes, looking up only once or twice at the woman. She was leaning against the headrest, knees pulled up close. She regarded him with an odd expression, somewhere between defeated and catatonic.
'I will return,' he promised her. Then he exited the room and closed the door behind him.
Gwen clutched her knees, pulling them even tighter to her body.
She'd been so near to grabbing him, a fiery strength rising in her. She could have done it, and done it easily – but the knock at the door had thrown her into panic. In an instant she had altered her stance, from attacker to concerned 'companion', rousing him. Had he bought it? There was no way of telling, but the news about the boy had probably chased any immediate thoughts about her from his mind. The very idea that they'd stumbled upon one of The Hooded Man's gang, and completely by accident, was nearly enough to make the Frenchman dance a jig on the spot.
Gwen knew which boy Tanek had been talking about, as well. It had to be the young kid with the tousled blond hair. Good God, what on Earth would that maniac do to try and get information out of him? Let Tanek loose? Would he do that?
Of course he would – the man had no scruples.
It was at that point, as she imagined Luke or Sally in his place, Gwen began to cry. She'd never cried for herself in all the time she'd been at the castle, but she did then.
Because she knew in her heart that she had failed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The weekend, they'd said.
A couple of days now to turn the men into the finest troops Sherwood had ever seen – able to face a superior
