One thought kept rolling through his mind, turning and turning, taking on the rhythm of the hoofbeats beneath him. Robin Longstride is the Hood. He’d known about his men being sold off, used as bait in a trap for the Hood. As a child Robin had long shown an affinity for the bow, winning contest after contest, even against trained soldiers. Robin was the Hood. The bane of his existence as chief tax collector. Son of his sworn enemy. Son of the only woman I ever loved. He arrived at the doors that led to the throne room. The king’s man—the one who’d come to summon him—stood to the left, frowning. As Locksley stepped closer the man reached for the door. Locksley held up his hand. The man stopped, and his frown turned to curiosity. Locksley kept his hand up, standing in place as he turned the revelation over in his mind. King John would reward him generously for this information, yet what could be done with it? Robin remained in Sherwood, unreachable, secure in the labyrinth of the mighty forest.
