Crouched in the shadow of a juniper tree, silent as a shadow herself, Artemis waited.
Death, she had decided, was too quick for the Sheriff of Nottingham. It was eleven weeks to the day since Marian had been kidnapped – kidnapped, and starved, and drugged, and tortured, and raped, and Darkness knew what else. Her suffering had been long and unending, and the Sheriff deserved the same in his punishment.
She just hoped the Christian wouldn't get in the way. Granted, he seemed more battle-ready than most of the saintly types she'd encountered – the flaming sword was kind of badass, she'd give him that – but if went and turned 'love-thy-neighour' on her, she'd shove it down his throat, flames and all.