“Good-bye, Eleanor,” I told her.

She nodded once, her mouth pressed tight shut. She waved me off and turned away, and Winchester offered me his arm.

He were silent down the hall, down the stair, down another long hall. We were about to make the courtyard, when I asked, “What is it, Winchester?”

He shook his head. “It is not my place, my lady.”

“You’ve been an excellent friend to me, Winchester. Please.”

“This is wrong,” he said soft. “Locksley thinks you’re dead. You’re lying to him—you’re asking me to lie to him.” He shook his head. “More than that. You’re torturing the man. A man who has seen too much torture in his life by half.”

“She’s not wrong,” I whispered to him. “You know he wouldn’t think of the danger. You know what he would risk for me. And I won’t ask him to do it.”

“That doesn’t make this right,” he told me.

We walked into the courtyard. It were clouded and dark, the sky heavy with rain like unshed tears.

“I can’t make you choose differently,” he said. “But I wish you would.”

I shook my head. I mounted my horse, and David bowed to Winchester, who just looked at me with stone in his eyes.

David mounted, and I spurred my horse, looking to the roads. One went north, to Nottingham, to Rob, to the light and his love and the feel of his heartbeat melting into mine. He would choose the north road, if it were him. He would move heaven and earth to return to me.

The other went west to Bristol. I stared at the north road, but I took the one west.

I wouldn’t fix a broken thing only to see it shatter before my eyes a moment later.

I weren’t close to good health yet, and we could only ride so far and so fast; it would take us three days or more to reach Bristol. We stopped at an inn that night, and David told them we were man and wife. He slept on the floor while I lay awake on the bed, staring out the window, thinking of Rob. It felt like leaving England and putting that much space between us were saying good-bye to Rob, to all the love I’d ever had for him, and I had only three days and however long it took to get a ship to figure a way to do it.

The next morning, we saddled the horses, and the stable boy brought out a third horse with him. “Boy,” David said, pointing. “That’s not our horse.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Allan said, coming out from the inn with a wide stretch and a yawn. “It’s mine.”

“Christ Almighty.” David sighed. “I thought we got rid of you.”

“You don’t wish that for a moment,” Allan said, mounting his horse. “Besides, did you really think to go to Ireland without one of her favorite native sons?”

“Clearly a foolish hope,” David muttered, mounting as well.

I swung up onto the horse, feeling my body ache as my muscles settled into place. “Play nice, boys.”

“I am devoted to your every request, lady thief,” Allan told me. “I cannot speak for the errant.”

“A word, my lady,” David said. “All I need is a word from your mouth and I will physically prevent him from following us.” He met Allan’s eyes. “Or walking.”

“A fool for beauty, that’s what I am. An utter fool. Never saw a pretty lass that couldn’t spin my head three ways till Sunday. God himself crafts the lines of a pretty face, I always say, and so how could you say no? You’re looking at God. God’s work, even—it’s like looking at Christ,” Allan prattled on.

“Am I supposed to be the lass?” I asked him. “Because I still don’t recall asking you to come.”

“There’s still time to send you home,” David added.

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. Patriotic duty? Sworn to protect my king’s fair daughter, nay, his country? A man cannot say no to such things. It goes against my honor. The fiber of my being!” Allan proclaimed.

Rolling my eyes, I reminded him, “You’re Irish, Allan. Richard isn’t your king, and England isn’t your country. And I haven’t seen much of this honor you claim.”

He looked mortally wounded. “Have I ever acted dishonorably to you, fair thief?”

“It doesn’t count if you suspect she’d cut your hands off,” David grunted.

“It counts,” Allan and I said at once.

“What about men?” I asked him. “Are you saying men are not crafted by God?”

It might have been the sun, but I could have sworn he colored up a bit. And as someone who hid her blushes fair often, I figured I knew better than most. “Men are the crudest castoffs of God’s work, I must say,” Allan said.

David chuckled.

Allan frowned. “Are we there yet?”

I glared at him. “Does it look like we’re there yet?”

He looked round us, to the cow pastures beyond the dirt road we were riding down. Our horses were in a quick canter, and Allan were frowning along.

“Do you never ride?” David asked. “Even the lady is more accomplished than you.”

“I grew up riding,” I explained. “Even if I didn’t do it much for years after.”

“I ride very gracefully,” Allan said with a sniff. “You two just enjoy it more.” He leaned toward me on his horse. “We could leave him here, fair thief,” he confided in a none-too-quiet whisper. “If you can forgo your penchant for big, strong men.”