Ian heard more fumbling, the slap of leather, and the tinkling of metal coins.
“Here, take this.” Erich’s words were accompanied by the whir of something cutting quickly through the air.
Ian quickly leaned to the side as a leather pouch flew over his left shoulder.
Robin’s empty hand snatched the bag out of the air with ease, metal coins bouncing off each other at the impact.
“What are you doing?” Ian asked again, this time speaking to his brother.
“Thank you, Erich.” Robin’s face softened into a real smile, but her eyes remained fixed on Ian.
“You cannot steal gold from the crown itself,” Ian protested.
“It is not stealing if it is a gift.” Robin slipped the leather pouch under her cloak.
“You are breaking the king’s law.” Ian’s arm began to shake from the effort of holding the heavy sword extended in front of him.
“Perhaps the king should share his gold more freely with those who need it.” Robin dropped her gaze to the tip of the sword. She looked up the blade into his eyes, a small smile on her face. “Last I checked, I could best you with that.”
Ian pressed his lips together to keep from returning her smile. “I was a boy then.”
“And you are a man now?”
Ian frowned, his pride doubly wounded. “I cannot let you assault travelers on the road. Please do not force my hand to harm you.”
“I will not,” Robin replied. “Give Aizel my love.” She threw her final words over Ian’s shoulder.
Taking a step back, she raised a hand as if in farewell.
Ian spurred his horse forward, unwilling to let her disappear into the night without apprehending her, or at least talking further with her. Or perhaps pulling her into his arms as he had done so many times in his dreams.
No, not that.
He had not seen her in nearly ten years. The woman in front of him was a stranger. She had surely changed if she had stooped to robbing travelers on the road.
A bow twanged behind him, and before he could even register the sound, an arrow hit the center of his back, just between his shoulder blades.
His body fell forward and, for several unending moments, his lungs stopped working.
It did not feel like the arrow had pierced through the boiled leather armor he wore, but its impact was still intense.
He willed his arm to lift his sword so he could turn and face his attacker, but his body refused to move as he struggled to inhale his next breath.
Robin was a traitor. A criminal. He had been weak to let her talk, weak to let her surround him and lower his guard.
But his mind raced faster than the seconds that ticked slowly by. His wide-open eyes saw his own shock mirrored on her face as she stared at whatever enemy stood behind him.
She lifted her fingers to her lips and let out a shrill pulsing whistle, two quick sounds followed by a longer one.
She had not planned whatever had just hit him, but she seemed to be sending some sort of signal to her bandits.
Probably encouraging them all to run.
Finally, Ian regained control of his body. Inhaling deeply, he lifted his sword as he turned in the saddle, giving Robin full advantage of his back. He could not worry about that now.
From the light of several lit torches, Ian could make out an organized group of soldiers on the road behind him. Perhaps two dozen men. They were hooded and masked, unidentifiable. But it was clear that these were no bandits.
Their swords were well crafted, their leather armor expensive. This was a coordinated attack from someone—Gareth, most likely. But who was his target?
