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He reaches up, bracing himself as he curls his fingers around the long arrow shaft buried in the muscle there. He cranes his neck and sees the fletching sprouting from his shoulder. It’s then that he feels the fiery lance of pain racing down his biceps and he gasps, sword dangling uselessly at his side. Something thuds into Robin’s shoulder, sending him off balance, and he whirls, searching for the blade he knows is coming. They’re making for the edge of the city, guarding something. The distant commotion is a cluster of a dozen English soldiers using a narrow alley to hold off a horde of Saracens one hundred strong. They must have killed the sentries in silence. Or what has been the safe part-the enemy has penetrated their defenses in the night, bypassing the fortifications. Robin sees a crowd in the distance, at the edge of the safe part of the city. He gestures with his sword, then turns to reengage. The other man’s sword sticks in his opponent’s rib cage, and he’s forced to plant a boot against the man’s chest to pull it free. The other man screams a reply, but over the sounds of battle Robin cannot hear. “Where is the King?” shouts Robin, his voice breaking. In the dark they might as well have been fighting amongst themselves. By now they are all so burned by the sun and rubbed raw by wind that at first glance they seem no different from the infidels they’re fighting. He catches sight of a familiar man, recognizable more for his style of battle than anything else. There are far too few English blades around him. Robin is forced to leave the man there and fend off another blow from another assailant, knocking him back with an elbow to the stomach. A second or two more and his opponent falls, screaming and trying to hold himself together with both hands across his stomach.
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It’s the battle that brings him back to himself, banishing the last hints of his dream of home-the frantic staccato of panting and grunting and steel scraping bone and arrows whistling past. His sword hand lifts to deflect the blow automatically, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Sand stings his eyes as a riderless horse gallops past, panicked, a long red line across its flanks spilling a crimson curtain down its hide.īefore he can begin to tell friend from foe, a blade swings out of the red-hot midnight toward his face.
Robin hood the legend of sherwood running slow full#
When he lurches out of his tent in the English-occupied part of the city, the heat hits him full in the face, dazzling him as he tries to escape the lingering memory of green and damp and earth. He’d been dreaming of rain on leaves, of the sound and feel of a wet day in Sherwood. His sword is in his hand before he’s on his feet. He wakes to the sounds of steel and fire, and the distant wailing of a Saracen woman.
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And the best part? We’re giving you a sneak peek at the first few chapters below! And that’s not the end-it’s only the beginning of another fantasy epic we’re sure to love. Seriously, there’s no reason a woman couldn’t take up any legendary mantle, and we’re so excited that this is a story we’re getting. Marian never meant to tread in Robin’s footsteps, but makes the choice to become her own hero in this gender-bending and action-packed book. Who doesn’t love a good retelling? Especially a feminist retelling? We’re here for it, and you should be too! The latest from the author of Hunted, Meagan Spooner delivers the same kind of compelling, kickass, reimagined story in Sherwood, a romantic retelling of Robin Hood.