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  Mark shook his head and walked towards the Bailey where Robert's men — his 'Sherwood Rangers' — were being put through their paces. Swordplay (techniques mainly gleaned from books: "You can find out everything about anything from books," Mary had said); archery; hand-to-hand combat. It was all going on down there. In lighter moments Mark couldn't help comparing their training ground to something out of an old James Bond movie.

  Jack would just love that, he thought to himself, knowing the big man's fondness for old films.

  Mark watched as arrows thudded into round, painted targets; as men tackled each other with wrestling moves Jack had imparted, and martial arts skills either taught by Robert or passed down from Reverend Tate's time. The holy man had returned to the village formerly known as Hope, along with Gwen, who he'd known from before his time in Sherwood. They'd left right after Gwen had given birth, in spite of Mary's concerns about letting them go. Gwen had wanted to put the failed community of Hope back together, in memory of her beloved Clive — who the Sheriff's men had so brutally killed. Tate had gone with her, arguing that the people out there needed spiritual guidance much more than they all did. Mark wondered though how much it had to do with Robert's personal thoughts about faith.

  Not that Tate had been the only member of their family they'd said goodbye to. Bill had also gone off to start again after constantly butting heads with Robert. The outspoken local hadn't agreed about the gun situation at all, especially when it came time for him to relinquish his canon of a shotgun. "He's daft as a brush," Bill had told Mary. "Judas Priest! With them weapons rusting away down in the caves we can really make a difference, an' what's Robert want to use? Bloody swords and sticks!" Last Mark heard Bill was back running markets, up the coast this time. He was doing all right, too, by the sounds of things. Oh, Robert kept tabs on him all right — just in case he needed help. He was still very fond of the man who'd once been his second, even though he was too proud to admit it.

  Arriving at the top of the steps, Mark suddenly had a flashback to when the Bailey had been used as a staging ground for De Falaise's executions. The men below were clanking swords together — swords which, along with other ancient weapons, had either been gathered from various museums or made on the grounds by their budding blacksmith, Faraday (who also shoed horses and gave the men riding lessons). Robert and his Rangers shunned the jeeps, tanks and motorbikes left behind, not only because fuel was becoming a rare commodity, but, again, because they represented a different time. They'd rely on other defences to protect the castle, like the projects some of the men skilled in woodwork had been drafted into. Robert promised they'd be as effective as anything modern weaponry could offer.

  Now in Mark's mind the training session was replaced by the wooden structure that mad Frenchman had made, a gallows.

  Of all the times Mark had come close to death, that had been the worst. The feel of the rope cutting into his neck, the agonising wait for De Falaise to give the signal for them to be dropped; how helpless he'd felt…

  The Hooded Man had intervened, of course. Or more accurately Mary dressed as The Hooded Man, walking in through the gates down there. That had taken some guts, switching places with Robert because she knew he'd be killed. It had proved distraction enough for the rest of Robert's forces to attack, but it could all have ended so differently.

  Phantom pains… Just phantom pains…

  Robert told him once what De Falaise had said right before he'd killed the man, ramming arrows into his throat and eyes, breaking them off. "It is only just beginning, mon ami." What he'd meant was anyone's guess, but in a sense he'd been right. As they'd begun their policing of the region, Robert had discovered just how hard it was to keep the peace. Even though people came every day to join his ranks, volunteers like the new recruits below, he still only had a limited supply of men to draw on — and now they were widening their protection to surrounding cities like Sheffield, Doncaster, Leeds, Manchester… things were even tighter.

  Which was one of the reasons Mark couldn't understand Robert's decision.

  "You're just not ready yet," he'd told him when he asked again.

  "I'm almost fifteen, not that much younger than Lee and his friends." Mark was referring to the group from St Mark's School down south, who'd showed up a while back asking Robert for help in defeating some bad guys they called The Snatchers. He'd eventually loaned them some Rangers, in spite of being stretched so thinly. "I'm not a kid anymore… I haven't been for a long time."

  "That's not what I'm talking about. You're simply not prepared, Mark."

  "After everything I've been through? You're joking."

  "It's because of everything you've been through. You need time, son."

  "You mean like you're taking?"

  Robert had flinched and Mark regretted it as soon as the words had tumbled out of his mouth. It had never been Robert's intention to run this operation; he'd never imagined he'd have to organise patrols or help squads on this scale when he gathered together his band of men in Sherwood. Hell, he'd taken enough convincing to get involved, even after saving Mark's and Bill's hides. By doing so, Mark knew he'd exorcised some of the demons from his past. But once that had been done he'd spent more time in his office than he had on the streets. When it came right down to it, the responsibility rested on Robert's shoulders alone. And it wasn't fair to criticise him for that.

  Nevertheless, the man had seen little action since undertaking his work at the castle. The legend of The Hooded Man might have spread, but the reality of the situation was very different. Which was probably why he'd started to brush up on his basics again, why he'd begun going out on missions in spite of the fact Mary didn't want him to. She said there was no reason to risk his life anymore, but every reason to stay safe. Mark felt guilty about that; like maybe he was the one who'd started Robert thinking about it again. But he was only saying what all the men thought. If they felt like he was hiding away behind a wall, while they tackled who knows what, then their respect for him wouldn't last.

  As Mark made his way down the steps, he spotted something that cheered him up. Coming down the main path was Mary, and she wasn't alone. Walking with her, on this crisp February morning, was a girl he'd recognise anywhere. He remembered the first time he'd seen her, in a small village, standing across the way in that yellow summer dress, freckles dotting her cheeks.

  Sophie. Lovely Sophie. A couple of years older than him, she'd fixed Mark a drink and then quizzed him about his time with The Hooded Man, flashing that gorgeous smile of hers.

  But even that memory was tinged with sadness. The Sheriff's men bursting in, attempting to take her with them… until Mark intervened; until he'd taken her place as a hostage. Then outside, the guys he'd travelled there with to return stolen food: all dead. Massacred in cold blood.

  When things had died down, when he'd recovered from his ordeal at the castle, he'd been surprised to get a visit from her. Mary had knocked on his door and told him there was someone to see him. "She came looking for you."

  "Who is it?"

  It had been so unexpected, but he was delighted to see her. So delighted he'd almost tripped over on the way to give her a hug.

  "Sophie! What are you doing here?"

  "That's nice."

  "No, no… That's not what I meant… I just…"

  "Relax," she said, grinning an impish grin and hitting him on the arm playfully. "I'm just messing with you. I came to bring you this." Sophie reached into a bag and brought out a battered photo album. "Here you go. I found it after the soldiers left."

  Mark's mouth dropped open. He thought he'd never see that again. It had been taken off him as he was bundled into the back of one of the Sheriff's armoured trucks. He turned the pages, and they transported him back to a time not just before the castle, but before the world went crazy.

  "Oh, and here," said Sophie, handing him a single photograph. It was the one of Mark with his real parents that the scarred soldier, Jace, tore up. Sophie had picked u
p the trampled pieces and taped them together again.

  Mark didn't know what to say, so he hugged her again.

  "Easy tiger," she'd said, laughing.

  "I'm… I'm sorry," Mark said when he let go. "It's just this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. You came all this way."

  Sophie looked him in the eye. "You're forgetting, I owe you mister. If it hadn't been for you I'd have been driven off in that truck, and God knows what would have happened to me. I certainly know what those men wanted to do."

  "It was my pleasure."

  "Hardly," said Sophie, taking his hand. "Mary told me about what happened. Thank you." Then she kissed him gently on the cheek. As Mary had taken her away to get some food, Mark rubbed the spot on his face where her lips had just been, and couldn't help imagining what they would feel like brushing against his own.

  He'd asked Robert immediately if Sophie could stay and he'd said of course. He remembered her, too, from the village — after they'd gone there looking for Mark. He also recognised a certain look in Mark's eye. One that told him exactly how Mark felt about the girl.

  Even now, after months of her being here, his heart felt like it would break out of his chest whenever he saw Sophie. Hormones, his head told him. That's all. But he couldn't help the way he felt. What he didn't know was whether Sophie felt the same. They'd spent a lot of time together, but he still had no idea whether she just wanted to be friends or something more. And now things were even more complicated.

  Mark made his way past the trainees and down the path. Sophie was dressed in a thick parka, trousers and boots. It was a million miles away from what she'd worn the day they met, but she still looked beautiful.

  He was about to shout across to them when he heard a bellow come from one of the gatehouse crew. "Green Leader is back!"

  Both Mary and Sophie turned at the same time, to see the gates open wide. A number of men on horseback rode through, Robert — hood drawn — leading the way, with Jack not far behind. It was good to see them again, and in one piece, because Mark knew they'd been after some very dangerous men in York. There were no prisoners with them, however, which meant that they'd either been unsuccessful or they'd already dropped them off at one of the nearby hotels they used as jails — a step up from the caves De Falaise had favoured, and more than some of the prisoners warranted.

  Mark watched the rest of the men ride in, spotting another figure he knew all too well.

  Dale.

  The twenty-three year old had joined them the previous summer, breezing in like something out of a US soap opera. His cropped hair and model looks belied the skill with which he fought. Many of the women under their protection had gone nuts over this guy — in fact he would be the pin-up hunk of the castle if such a thing existed any more. It didn't help that he'd once sung lead vocal for a band called One Simple Truth, and insisted, even now, on writing songs and strumming them out on that guitar of his to pass the time.

  Mark knew it was only jealousy; not only was Dale older than him, he was also much cooler. In fact he was everything Mark should be, including the first choice for missions like this one. And here he was, not even on the long list for training sessions yet. It just wasn't fair.

  Watch those hormones, Mark…

  But his jaw set firm when he saw Sophie run over to the men on horseback. Over to Dale's horse. Mark carried on down the path, noticing how Mary hurried over to Robert, who was climbing down off his horse, wincing as he did so.

  "Robert! Oh my God, are you all right?" Mark heard her ask.

  Robert gave one of his trademark silent nods.

  "He's just a little sore, aren't you, Robbie?" Jack swung down from his own mount, handing over the reins to a lad who'd come down from the castle's stables. "We saw a bit of action, y'see."

  "Action?" Mary looked from Jack to Robert, her forehead crinkling; then, carefully, she pulled down his hood. "Oh no, look at you." There was indeed a nasty purple bruise on his chin. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" She was examining him now for any other wounds, and stopped dead when she saw the cut across the front of his jacket.

  Robert pulled away. "Mary, don't fuss… please. I'm fine."

  "But you might not have been. I asked you not to go, but you went anyway and — "

  "If he hadn't I might not still be alive." Mark looked up to see a woman riding behind one of the Rangers. She had short, black hair, and a striking face; high cheekbones and perfectly plump lips. The Ranger helped her down from the horse and she walked over to Robert and Mary, then stood between them. "He saved my life."

  Mary looked the woman up and down. "And who are you?"

  "Her… her name's Adele. I said she could return with us to the castle."

  Adele smiled and held out her hand to Mary, who took it after some hesitation, and only held onto it for one shake. "I see," said Mary.

  Looks like I'm not the only one feeling jealous, thought Mark, eyes darting across to Dale and Sophie again. She was giggling at something he'd just whispered.

  "She has nowhere else to go, Mary," explained Robert, drawing Mark's gaze back. "So I said she could stay here for a while."

  "I see," repeated Mary and gave him a look that really said: We'll talk about this when we don't have an audience.

  "I'm really grateful for everything he did."

  Mark raised an eyebrow. I'll bet you are.

  "You should have seen him in action."

  Mary gave a tight smile, then replied: "I've seen him in action, thanks."

  "He took on all those men on his own." Adele was gazing up at Robert with what could only be described as adulation. "I don't know how I can ever repay him." She placed a hand on Robert's arm, completely ignoring the look of disdain from Mary. Robert saw it, though, and shifted awkwardly around, closer to the woman who'd been at home worrying about him, wondering if he was alive or dead.

  "Jack," he said, "would you mind taking Adele up to the castle, showing her what's what, getting her some food. She must be starving."

  "My absolute pleasure." Jack offered the woman his arm. "Come on, little lady."

  Before she took it, Adele leaned in and gave Robert a peck on the cheek. "Thank you again for everything."

  When the pair were gone, Robert turned to Mary, who had now folded her arms. "What could I do? She has no one. Just like you when we first met."

  It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. "Lining up a replacement, are we?"

  "Don't be silly, Mary. It's just — "

  "Silly? Silly!" Mary breathed in an out slowly a few times. She looked like she was about to say something else when Mark decided he'd better cut in.

  "The men you fought, they were the ones you'd been tracking? The cultists?"

  Robert appeared grateful for the reprieve. "Yes. We took several of them into custody. They're at The Britannia right now." This was their main penitentiary, a hotel not far from the castle, guarded by Robert's men. "We're in way over our heads with them, though. They're fanatics, religious nutters. I think I'm going to need Tate's help to figure out their overall game plan."

  Mark nodded, glancing over briefly to see Dale and Sophie still laughing and joking. He looked back at Robert, a serious expression on his face. "So they're potentially a serious threat?"

  "Potentially," Robert conceded.

  "Then you're going to need all the men you can spare to tackle them."

  "I suppose I…" Robert suddenly realised where this was heading. "Look, Mark, we've talked about this before."

  "I know, and it never gets any further. I'm ready; you know it and I know it."

  Robert sighed, looking from Mark to Mary, then back again. "What is this, some kind of ambush? I've only just got back, I'm tired and hungry, and you two are on me as soon as I get through the gate. We'll discuss this some other time."

  Mark wasn't sure whether he meant his problem, or Mary's, but persisted. "I want to talk about it now." Robert began to walk away from both of them. "Please!"

  The
man stopped, hung his head, then said simply. "I'll have a word with Jack about beginning your training." With that, he carried on up the path towards the castle.

  Mark smiled, then saw Mary was still frowning. He put an arm around her shoulder. "Hey, you don't have to worry about him. He really loves you, you know."

  She shook her head. "I just wish sometimes he'd show it more."

  "Yeah, I know what you mean."

  Mary followed his gaze across to Sophie. "They're friends. That's all."

  Mark shrugged. "I can understand it. He's older than me, gets to go out, play the hero…"

  "Is that what all this is about? The thing with the training?" Mary asked him. "Because if it is — "

  "No," he replied, but didn't sound very convincing. "Not really… Mary, do you ever think about the past, about what we all went through? About what happened here?"

  "You mean, do I miss it? Being in the thick of things, even though we were all nearly killed?"

  That wasn't quite what he meant, but he nodded anyway.

  "Sometimes. But not as much as he does." She gestured towards the figure heading towards the castle. "I just don't know what I'd do now if I lost him."

  Mark pulled her in closer and she put her arm around his shoulder. He thought about saying, "You won't" but they both knew he couldn't make that kind of promise.

  "Come on," Mark said to her, more to get away from Sophie and Dale than to follow Robert.

  So much had changed, thought Mark again. Yet it was true: so much was still the same. But there were so many questions left unanswered. Questions he was trying not to think about as they walked towards the castle.

  Questions like what exactly had happened to Tanek's body during that final battle? Mark had seen him go down, seen him die. So why did the man who'd tortured him haunt his thoughts? Another phantom pain that refused to go away? Or something more?

  It was then those words of De Falaise's came back to him and he gave a shiver that had nothing whatsoever to do with the cold.