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Twelve soldiers escorted two wagons.

Six more men than the proclamation had promised.

I counted them twice, almost impressed that Fitzwalter had bothered to make the trap look convincing. The lead wagon stopped when the driver spotted the fallen tree.

I put an arrow through its wooden side, no more than a hand's width from his knee.

He jerked back, shouting.

"That's her!"

Of course they recognized the arrow.

I'd trimmed every feather myself, just as I'd done since I was eleven. No fletcher between Nottingham and York could match my work, and I intended to keep it that way.

If I wanted the Crown to know who'd robbed its wagons, I made certain to leave my signature.

I remained hidden above the road.

"The three prisoners!" I called. "Put them on the road, turn your horses around, and every one of you can go home for supper."

The captain looked toward the banks.

He couldn't see our archers, which was precisely why I'd put them there.

"I have orders from the Crown!"

"And I've got eleven bows pointed at twelve men standing in a road they can't get out of."

"The Sheriff of Nottingham…”

"Isn't here. You are, and you're the one who needs to make a decision."

I waited until he looked up again.

"I've spent three years taking supplies from the Crown without killing a single soldier. I'd prefer to keep it that way, so don't give me a reason to start today."

The captain hesitated.

I could see him weighing his orders against the likelihood of surviving the next few minutes.

Unfortunately, he chose his orders. So we did things the hard way. Alana and Much put four arrows into the wheel hubs of the wagons, disabling them before the drivers could turn around.

Little John came down the bank behind the rear guard and began relieving soldiers of their weapons.

I shot the captain's sword belt clean off his hip.

I'll admit that one was unnecessary, but I enjoyed it. Two soldiers attempted to climb the bank toward me. I knocked the first flat into the leaves and left the second to Tuck, who sat on him until he stopped struggling.

Four minutes later, it was over.

Three soldiers had broken fingers, several more would be nursing bruises for a week, and nobody had suffered anything worse. Hild was in the second wagon, her wrists bound in front of her.

She sat with her chin raised, looking every bit as offended as a duchess forced to travel third class.

"You took your time," she said.

"I was busy."