Which meant he could die. There, it was in Bill's head before he could shake it. But he wouldn't find out by staying up in the air like this. Quickly, Bill searched for a place to set the Gazelle down. It wasn't easy, everywhere he looked there were the carcasses of fighting machines or the ground was too churned up for a stable landing, but eventually he managed to find a small area of flat ground.
"Back in a sec, girl," he told the chopper, grabbing both his shotgun and one of his newly acquired AK-47s. He had no idea whether there were any Russian soldiers in hiding, waiting for someone to come along, so he wasn't taking any chances.
Cautiously, Bill picked his way across the field, hurrying when he got closer to Robert's position. Taking one last look around him, pointing the guns in every direction, he crouched on the floor beside Robert. Putting the machine gun on the ground, though still ready with his trusty double-barrelled shotgun if he needed it, Bill checked the side of Robert's neck for a pulse. For a second he couldn't find one, then he realised he was panicking, feeling in the wrong place. He calmed down and brought his fingers up higher, to the crevice between the chin and neck. There it was, a faint beat. Robert was still alive.
Bill let out the breath he'd been holding. They'd had their moments in the past, but this was still the man who'd saved his life. The man he'd gone into battle with at the castle. "Rob," he said, slapping the man's cheek. "Rob, can ye hear me?"
There was a flicker under Robert's eyelids.
"Rob?"
Robert opened his eyes, though they were still practically slits. "Not… not dead…" he whispered and Bill almost missed what he said. The man sounded surprised, like he'd been expecting to wake up at the Pearly Gates.
"Naw, but ye doin' a good impression of a dead man. Look at the state of ye, lad."
"B-Bill?" Robert managed, as if he'd only just realised who was talking to him. "Is that you?"
"Aye."
"W-What are you-?"
"Later," Bill promised him. "Along wi' the 'I told ye sos'." He felt bad right after he'd said it, but if Robert had only listened to him… "Right now I reckon ye need them wounds lookin' at. Get ye back to Mary."
"No," said Robert, louder than he'd said anything since Bill found him.
"No?" Bill couldn't understand that. Surely Mary would be the first person he'd want to see, they'd been as thick as thieves since they met. Plus she had all that medical knowledge.
"S-Sherwood," Robert said.
"Eh? What d'you want to go back there for? Ye really have lost it."
Robert wouldn't — or couldn't — explain. He just said: "Please."
"But-"
"Please," Robert repeated more emphatically, and placed a trembling hand on Bill's arm.
"All right, but let's get yer wounds dressed properly first. I've got a medical kit in the helicopter."
Robert nodded, then winced in pain.
"Ye know," said Bill, standing. "Yer one stubborn man, Robert Stokes."
"Look… Look who's talking," wheezed Robert, a slight smile playing on his lips.
Bill shook his head and went off back to the chopper.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mark had been having the most serious conversation of his life when it all hit the fan.
Stupidly, he'd figured now was the perfect time to talk to Sophie. Dale was out of the way — though it still smarted that Robert had chosen to take him along and not Mark — plus the place was more peaceful than it had been in weeks. Plucking up the courage had proved to be more difficult. He would rather have faced another dozen of the men in robes than come out and tell Sophie how he really felt. Fighting was much simpler than dealing with all these emotions.
But, eventually, he decided he couldn't put it off any longer. They were facing all kinds of threats; he might not get the chance to say anything later on. What was the worst that could happen? She could shoot him down in flames, that's what. Her emotional bullets doing more damage than real ones ever could.
Mark had thought about Sophie a lot, even before she came to the castle. He'd even wondered whether it was worth going out and finding her himself, to see how she was after he'd been dragged off by De Falaise's men. But then she'd followed him here. It had to be a sign, didn't it? Some kind of omen?
But Dale had come along before Mark had a chance to say anything. Dale with the good looks and stories about gigging; Dale with his guitar, making up songs to impress her. How could Mark hope to compete with that? For starters, Dale was older and much more experienced. He knew what to say to girls.
Whereas you'll probably make a balls up of this, he told himself as he went in search of Sophie. Just like you do with everything.
Then she'd found him again. Coming round a corner, he'd bumped right into her, almost knocking them both over. "Sophie!"
"Hey, it's all right. No harm done. Although if you do it again I might just have to retaliate, soldier boy."
Soldier boy, thought Mark. There's that word again. That's all I am to her really, a boy. When we first met, all she'd talked about was The Hooded Man, though she didn't know then how old he was. Imagined him closer to Dale's age.
"So," she continued. "Whatcha doing?"
"Oh, er…" Mark scratched the back of his head, losing his hand in his tangle of dark-blonde hair. "Nothing, I was just… Sophie?"
"Yeah."
"Can I talk to you?"
"I thought that's what you were doing," she said and gave another little chuckle. "No, I'm sorry, I'm in a daft mood today: go on."
"Somewhere a bit more, I don't know, private?"
Sophie looked around, there was nobody in sight. "Sure. Inside?"
Mark shook his head, then gestured for her to follow him. They walked down the steps to the overgrown grounds, the place that had once been a recreational park with a centrepiece of a Victorian Bandstand. That was still there, and it was where Mark chose to make his confession.
Sophie sat on a bench, then watched as Mark paced in front of her. "Sophie… I…"
"Mark, what is it? You can tell me." He looked at her; that freckled face the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. How could he upset her?
"No. It doesn't matter."
"Obviously it does or you wouldn't have brought us down here."
He stopped pacing. "Sophie…"
"Come on, Mark, just tell me."
He swallowed hard. "Okay. We're friends right?"
She laughed again, only this time it was a kind of 'I don't believe you just said that' laugh. "Of course, silly. You're like my best friend, Mark."
His smile came out wonky. Best friend is good. But is that all we'll ever be? And if I say this, will it ruin that friendship forever?
"What's all this about, Mark?"
He decided to risk it.
"Sophie, I really love you." There, it was out.
"Well, I love you too."
Now that he hadn't been expecting. "What?"
"Course I do. We've been through a lot together, Mark." He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "We'll always be friends and I'll always love you to bits."
Now he could.
"Sophie, what I meant was… When I said I love you, I meant…"
She looked blank, then the penny dropped. "Ooh. I see."
Mark stared down at his boots. "God, this is awkward."
"Listen," she began, getting up to join him. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way. You're incredibly sweet but…"
Don't say it, please don't say it. You're loading up the gun, about to shoot. Soon there'll be flames everywhere. Crash and burn, Mark, crash and burn.
"…but I'm not looking for anything like that right now."
Mark looked up. "You mean with me?"