Chapter 7 | Robin
“You’ve scrubbed enough, Robin. Anymore and you’ll scour the damn skin off your knuckles.”
I blinked and shook my head, staring down at my hands. We had found a pond nearby, deeper in the woods away from the village. While I madly washed my bloody hands, lost in a horrific cycle of regret and shame, Will dragged Initiate Brandt’s body deeper into the woods with us, grunting the whole time.
He hid the corpse in a thicket of bushes. Left Brandt there like a dog, where no one would find him—at least not until we were hopefully gone from Ravenshead.
My hands shivered, glistening in the early afternoon sun from the wetness. They were red-raw, yet no longer red from blood. The clear water in the pond where I kneeled had turned brown and murky.
I looked up blankly at Will standing over me, his arms folded. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, just sniffling and returning to my despair.
He was right. The blood was gone. I was clean, yet my spirit felt so tarnished and tainted.
What happened to me back there? I wondered. I didn’t mean the death—that had been a matter of self-defense, far as I was concerned. The quicker I could convince my heart of that, the better I’d be off.
No, I meant the sensation.
Where did it come from? And why?
Will crouched next to me at the bank of the pond, grunting and running his hands through the water. When I glanced over at him out the corner of my eye, I saw he was watching me.
There was no anger on his face. No sadness. His expressions were hard to read on the best of days, but I knew this one from months back.
Pity.
My most hated enemy.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I snapped, nudging my chin at his arched, helpless eyebrows.
He cleared his throat, shook his head, and washed his hands. A beat of silence passed between us. It only made the heavy pulse of my heartbeat in my ears sound louder.
“What happened to you back there, little thorn?” he asked at last, quietly.
“What are you talking about?” I shot back, too swiftly.
Will chewed his bottom lip. He never chewed his lip, because he never had a reason to feel nervous or confused. He was as bullheaded as I was, yet twice as confident. Once he had an idea in his mind, he waylaid into it—no regrets, no second-guesses. I envied that about him.
This was different. He seemed hesitant to say more, as if tiptoeing across ice.
I couldn’t have that. Not with my mates. They needed to speak their minds to me, so we never sent mixed signals or lost each other.
I pressed again, turning to face him fully. “Will? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sighing, brow creasing together. “You had a smile on your face as that man died, Robin.”
“I . . .” I swallowed, my throat dry again. Needing something to do to gather myself, I cupped water from the pond—from a non-murky part—and sipped it to wet my throat. “I don’t know, either,” I admitted. There was no use denying it. He saw it, I felt it. “I’m not sure what came over me. All I know is it was frightening once I snapped out of it.”
He grunted, nodding slowly. Stared down at his reflection in the pond. “Perhaps you should talk to Tuck? He’s, erm, good with these kinds of things.”
“What things?”
“Blemishes on the soul.”
My eyes widened. “Blem—wait. What?”
He sat back on his heels, keeping his eyes on me. Darted his glance away, then back to me. I saw the moment he braced himself by the way his eyes darkened.
Braced himself for what? Perhaps my outcry and anger at what he had to say.
“I fear, lass, that we . . . that we may have caused something irreversible in you.”
“How do you mean?”
“I recognize that look, little thorn. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”
“How do you mean, Will?” I bellowed, growing tired of his reticence. My hands curled into fists on my slanted lap.
He took a beat. “I worry that, in trying to ‘corrupt’ you when you first arrived, and desensitizing you to the violence that surrounds us, we’ve . . .”
“Created a monster?”
He sighed heavily. “In short? Yes.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me before I could, raising a finger. “Just think of all the death you’ve seen in such a short time. Peter Fisher, Much the Miller’s Son, Stump, Lewis, Skiff, Carter, Carter’s father, Dan the Dove, everyone during the execution riot, the guards holding the women hostage on that carriage, Abbot Emery, your . . . your father.”
My jaw tightened, muscles bulging. I hadn’t thought of my father in a while now.
“Those are just the ones I can think off the top of my head,” he added.
“I get it.”
“So—”
“We have no time for this,” I interjected, abruptly jumping to my feet. When he looked up imploringly, I pointed behind me. “We have a dead man in the bushes back there. Add another to your tainted list.”
“Robin, please,” he said, standing and taking my arms. “You know I’m not good with words. I didn’t mean you’ve become a monster. I love you. You know that.”
I blinked away tears. Nodding silently, I stuffed my head into his chest so he could hug me again. I wasn’t angry because he had called me a monster. I was angry because I knew he was right, and I had no idea what to do about something like this.
What does a person do when their soul is held hostage by your darkest, most twisted thoughts? By thoughts that should never be there in the first place?
Perhaps he was right. Maybe I needed to talk with Tuck—as long as he didn’t try to baptize me. “We need to go back to the village,” I whispered in his ear, then pulled away from his neck, inhaling his scent of cedar and hide leather. “People are going to wonder why we’ve been gone so long.”
He gave me a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Our friends will just think we went off to frolic before my imminent demise.”
I snorted. “Imminent demise? Don’t be silly. You would have taken Initiate Brandt in a duel. I don’t care how esteemed and feared the Knights Templar are. They don’t know you like I know you.”
He smiled roguishly. “Guess we’ll never know the outcome, now. Fool lad, trying something so damned stupid like that.”
“Almost got away with it, too.”
His mischievous smile remained plastered on his face. “Aye, if it weren’t for my brat princess. Always a thorn.”
I took his hand in mine and we walked away from the pond, the sounds of chirping birds and rustling branches filling the solemn silence. Our heads bowed, still trying to recover from the suddenness of the ordeal and violence.
Yes, Will was certainly right about one thing: I had become entirely desensitized to it all. The robbing, the killing, the fighting. Seeing friends and enemies die. Watching innocent people suffer.
“Promise me you’ll talk to someone after this?” he asked quietly as we strolled.
I nodded, fighting past a lump in my throat. “I will.”
Maybe I’m overreacting. Perhaps this is just the next evolution of my indignation at how the people of this country are treated, and I’m tired of accepting it and letting it roll off my back. I’ve had enough.
Still . . . enjoying the death of a man, no matter how much I hated him, is not something I’m used to feeling.
“We need to make a plan before we get back to Ravenshead,” I said. “Sir Charles will wonder where the hell Brandt is, if he hasn’t already. He’ll start snooping.”
“Aye. He might have even been involved in the assassination attempt, though I doubt it. He’s a pissant, no doubt, but I imagine Sir Charles still has a glint of chivalry in his old bones. Nothing like the younglings these days, always trying to prove themselves and do things their own way.”
I chuckled. “Are you talking about Brandt, or yourself?”
He snorted, smirking. “Fuck you, little thorn.”
I snickered, feeling somewhat like myself again. Trying to bury all the madness that just transpired, for one blessed moment.
Then I scratched my cheek and looked at my dark-haired, bright-eyed lover. “Any ideas what we do?”
“Aye. But you’re not going to like it.”
I MADE MY WAY TO THE small cabin, which Landon had gifted Sir Charles—begrudgingly—to conduct his business while we waited for the duel-that-would-never-happen to start.
I found it awful that Charles had been given William Elder’s house to use as an office, while things got sorted. The audacity was stunning, yet it was far enough from the rest of the village that I supposed it made sense. It was quiet here.
I still had a few minutes before the duel was set to begin, which meant I had to act quickly.
Little John and Tuck stood on either side of the door as I approached. The cabin was squat and tight compared to the vast expanse of the beehive farm outside it. Surely not up to the opulent standards of someone like Sir Charles. Still, I imagined it suited his purposes, whatever those might be.
“Where did you two run off to for so long?” John asked as I stood in front of him and Tuck.
A curious expression was on his face, and all I could do was thrown him a tight smile and say, “Later, love. Is the Templar in there?”
“Aye. Your brother, too. Doubt Sir Charles is seeing visitors right now.”
I made a show of glancing over both shoulders, then threw my arms out wide. “Who’s going to stop me?” The crowds had dispersed, and were starting to swell in the village square a quarter-mile down the hill. “It was his arrogance that had him bring only two knights here.”
“Speaking of. Where’s the young, brash one?”
I shrugged again, quickly darting my eyes away from John’s scrutinizing gaze. “Good question. Preparing, I suppose. Praying, perhaps?”
“I get the feeling he’s doing neither of those things.”
I wasn’t sure if I detected a hint of innuendo from John’s words, but I didn’t press. I simply walked past him and Tuck, into the cabin.
It was practically empty in the front room. Many of William Elder’s accoutrements had been taken away already, which gave me a pang of sadness. The sadness grew heavier when I looked at the wall and noticed the fine coat Will had brought his father months back, which William Elder had at first denied.
Seemed he’d gotten some use out of it after all.
Sir Charles sat at a small table in the center of the room, an open window behind him letting in a fresh breeze, with a narrow hall next to him that led to the cabin’s sleeping quarters.
Robert had himself perched in a corner of the room, arms crossed, leg propped up on the wall with his head bowed. His eyes looked closed, and I wondered if he was trying to catch some quick shuteye before the duel. We’d ridden all night to get here, after all.
The Templar Knight sat at the undersized table, scribbling with a quill. He had multiple parchments in front of him, and when he finished writing on one, he dipped his quill into an inkwell, moved the page aside, and started on the next one.
I pulled up a chair across from the bald, older man. “What are you working on?”
My presence—or perhaps my female voice—made his body tense. Head still bowed, he froze. Slowly, he raised his eyes, blinking at me with his bushy gray brows slightly raised.
Calmly, he sat back in his chair. Examined me, with a drilling gaze that made me uncomfortable, as if he thought it was beneath him to converse with a woman, but found me oddly amusing, like a toy or a dog.
“God’s work continues throughout the day,” he said in his deep voice, “despite the excitement of the duel ruffling the feathers of this village’s flock.”
“I thought the duel was going to decide ownership of this estate.”
“It is, girl. The deputy lent it to me temporarily.” He tilted his head, an intensity taking over his features as he studied and made the measure of me. “Who am I speaking to?”
“My name is Robin of Loxley.”
A gruff sound escaped his lips. “Never heard of you. Should I have?”
I shrugged. “I’d never heard of you, either, before you showed up here. I won’t take offense.”
A smirk curled his lips. “You’re a brash one, aren’t you?”
I smiled. “I’ve been known to be a bit of a thorn.”
He nodded, leaned forward, and picked up his quill to keep writing.
“Are these other estates you plan on stealing? Sorry. Repurposing?”
“I’m not having this argument again, woman, despite your feeble attempts to goad me.” The scratching of his quill on parchment made me suppress a shudder. “These are land grants,” he finished.
I nodded, though he was no longer looking at me.
Sunlight brightened the edge of the table on Charles’ right side, coming in through the window behind him.
“Do you think your initiate will defeat Will?”
Sir Charles looked up again. Narrowed his eyes on me, as if realizing something, and then smiled. “Ah. William Scadlock the Younger is your man. Husband?”
I gulped. “How do you—”
“I saw him chancing looks at you over my shoulder during our . . . disagreement. And to answer your question, yes, Brandt will be victorious, because he fights with God’s favor. Your man is a wretch and will be dead before the sun reaches its zenith in the sky, and he’ll be colluding with Satan by sundown. I am sorry. He chose the wrong path.”
Colluding with Satan? Doesn’t sound so bad.
I clenched my teeth together. Studied him right back, trying to stand my ground. “Where does the arrogance stem from, Sir Charles?”
“Excuse me, woman?”
“To believe you have a right to other people’s property—”
“Robin,” came the warning voice of my brother behind me. “That’s enough.”
“This conversation is over, Robin of Loxley,” Sir Charles said.
The sunny patch on the desk blotted black for a fraction of a second as something passed by the window.
Sir Charles noticed, threaded his brow, and looked down. The desk was sunny again—golden-yellow on the chipped wooden surface.
“Who sent you to Ravenshead, sir?” I pressed, trying to keep his attention.
The shadow that had passed by the window swelled behind Sir Charles, growing large yet deathly silent, like a black-winged angel. I heard Robert’s foot fall on the floorboard from its perch on the wall behind me, either in surprise, or to hide any unexpected sounds in the cabin. He stayed quiet.
“God, woman,” Charles said with a firm nod. “God sent me.”
“So no person of flesh and blood made the arrangements for this cabin or”—I waved a hand vaguely at the pages in front of him—“these other properties?”
“You don’t need to know that information,” he said haughtily, squaring his shoulders. Almost like he was embarrassed, or perhaps he was starting to find our conversation boring and pointless.
I supposed it was. I never really expected him to tell me who he was working for. I had my theories.
Sir Charles sighed and looked past me, to the door. “Where in God’s name is Initiate Brandt, anyway? Let us get this over with, so I can be gone from this dim, backwater village.”
“I imagine your initiate is speaking with God right now, Sir Charles, confessing his sins of pride, greed, and wrath.”
“What?”
“I hope He gives you everything you deserve at the pearly gates, sir.”
With that, I nodded firmly, even as Sir Charles bellowed, “You dare speak to a man of my station in such an impudent way? Are you all vixens of insubordination in this miserable place, whore?”
I frowned, even as he leaned forward, anger running through a vein in his temple. Then I turned away from him—
To avoid seeing Will Scarlet jab his dagger through the back of Sir Charles’ bald skull.
I had seen enough seeping blood and bulging eyes to haunt me for weeks already, today.
Though I didn’t see it, I still heard it. The wooden thunk of Sir Charles’ forehead abruptly falling forward, smacking against the desk and sending his quill and ink skittering.
Robert let out a gasp of shock. I caught his eyes—fearful and confused, as if he didn’t recognize me as his sister or anyone he’d ever met.
It filled me with sorrow, so I quickly turned back around.
Will slid his blade out of Charles’ spine with a grotesque squelching sound, then cleaned it off on the man’s white mantle. There was no blood this time—at least not at the front—though the darkening blot of ink slowly washing across the pages brought an ominous shudder to my bones.
I called out, “John? Tuck? The knight would like a word.”
My two burly lovers meandered into the room, and froze two steps inside.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Will,” John gasped.
“What have you done, you damnable whelp?” Tuck added.
“What needed to be done,” Will answered simply. He stuffed his dagger away.
I stared down at the slumped-forward body of Sir Charles. Glad I didn’t have to see his face, or what final rictus expression he held in death, frozen eternal on his features.
I felt nothing looking down at him. Preferable to the sick satisfaction I felt as Initiate Brandt died, I supposed, yet I knew the dull ache of nothingness wasn’t much better.
“You’ve doomed us,” Tuck said, stepping forward. “No. You’ve doomed this village. The innocent people of Ravenshead—”
“Initiate Brandt attacked us in the woods,” Will cut in. “Attacked me, anyway.” He nudged his chin toward me. “Our little thorn saved my damn life.”
John and Tuck exchanged a glance, eyes wide.
“So, you see?” Will continued. “The duel couldn’t happen. Sir Charles couldn’t know. He got what he deserved.”
“Yet now the people of Ravenshead will get what they most assuredly don’t deserve, once news of this gets out,” Tuck muttered, shaking his head and putting a hand to his forehead. He looked up, angry. “You think we can possibly hide a murder of this magnitude? Two murders, William?”
“Yes,” Will answered. “Because it never happened.”
“Make this fucking idiot make sense, little hope,” John chided, looking to me. “Give me a glimmer, I beg you.”
I cleared my throat. “We need to talk to Landon and convince him that there was no other way. Leaving one Templar alive and one dead was not an option. Brandt made his choice, and thus made the choice for Sir Charles, as well.”
“Where is this heartlessness coming from?” Tuck asked, head reeling on his neck.
I scowled at him, brow arching in fury. I was tired of this line of thinking—or perhaps thinking about the new callous wickedness I had apparently developed. “I’ve always been your little heathen, Tuck. It’s always been there. Just better hidden than it is now.”
“Fucking hell, lass,” John said, putting his hands on the top of his head.
Robert still hadn’t said a damned thing. He stood behind the two of them, against the wall, looking at us like we were . . . well, murderers.
“Brother,” I called out. “You understand, don’t you?”
“I don’t fucking understand any of this,” Robert said in a low, choked voice. “This is complete madness.”
I let out a frustrated huff, aggravated at the men’s reticence and lack of understanding. “Charles and Brandt never made it to Ravenshead. I agree, and we all know, that more Templar Knights will be coming here to uncover truths. As long as the townsfolk understand the ploy, we get away with this. No one saw a damned thing. No white cloaks, no red crosses, and certainly no duel for the land rights of William Elder’s property.”
“Good luck convincing a town of over a hundred people to stay mum,” Robert said, shaking his head incredulously. “There will be an investigation, Robin. Two missing Templar Knights? They’ll knock on every fucking door here. Someone will cry foul.”
I seethed, baring my teeth. “Then we answer that question as it arises. For now, we stick to this plan, because we have no alternative.”
Dead quiet. My rushing heart, slamming against my ribs. I eyed each man in turn.
When they continued looking at me like I was a stranger, and were still stunned beyond reason, I threw my arms up. “Don’t look at me like I caused this! Brandt tried to assassinate Will, and you’d better believe he was going to kill me, too. Dead men and women tell no secrets, after all. Would you rather me and Will be buried in a bush near a pond than these two righteous assholes?”
The men ducked their heads in apparent shame. Only Will stood next to me, standing tall, evidently proud of how I was taking all this. How I scolded the men, showing a new side of leadership that I never thought myself capable of. A ruthless, cutthroat flavor of leadership that held pragmatism over empathy.
“So? Are we in agreement?” My voice was booming now, bouncing off the walls.
John, Tuck, and Robert shared hopeless looks.
Slowly, they nodded.
“Good. Then someone go find Landon. We need to make this lie believable. And we also need to find somewhere to put Sir Charles so he’ll never be found.”
Robert did the honors, spinning and leaving the cabin without saying a word. An aura of shame and regret had wrapped around his body.
The ambiance was decidedly gloomy, so I tried to smile, even though it felt sickly and probably looked worse. “Hoy, look at the greener side. At least Ravenshead gets to keep William Elder’s land, right?”