Chapter 8 | Robin
“So you see, Landon?” Robert asked, finishing the gruesome story.
The stocky deputy of Ravenshead stood with us in the cabin, eyes as big as saucers. He couldn’t take his stunned gaze off Sir Charles’ corpse. His face was lined with sweat and fear.
“Landon?” Robert asked again.
The deputy looked over at my brother, a dumbstruck expression on his face. “What?”
“Do you understand what must be done? For the sake of every citizen of Ravenshead?”
“I . . . I understand none of this, Robert.”
Landon, who had disregarded me with a quickness when I’d first met him, apparently had a rapport with my brother. He called him by his first name, and spoke to him like, well, another human being, rather than a nuisance. I wondered what their history was, and just how many connections Robert had made during his months back from the Holy Land.
“That’s what I said, too,” Robert replied, and then put a reassuring hand on Landon’s shoulder and squeezed. “My friend, there was no way past this. The Templar initiate never had any intention of dueling Will Scarlet for his father’s property. The honey farm and the cabin now rest in the hands of the people here, to do what is best for Ravenshead. Not the Templars.”
“Are you trying to twist this into good news?” Landon gawked.
Just as I’d done after Robert left to retrieve Landon: trying to show the sunnier side of this entire debacle. Turned out Landon didn’t much appreciate it.
My three mates stood with me near a wall, watching Landon and Robert converse.
“You’ve made criminals of us all, Robert,” Landon said. “No.” He thrust a finger in our direction. “They have made criminals of us all! I always knew the Merry Men were bad news. This just proves it.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Landon . . .” Robert trailed off. He glanced away, then back to his “friend.” “You were always going to have to decide, eventually.”
“Decide what?”
“Which side you are going to fight for. The side of tyranny and oppression, or the side of rebellion and revolution. Ravenshead is too important a land to get by unscathed—as you can see by the Templars being here in the first place.”
Landon stood taller, nostrils flaring. “You’ve cut out the choice of the matter and made it for us.”
“I am sorry.” Robert bowed his head.
Landon turned away with a disgusted huff and paced toward the front door. Shaking his head, he wheeled around to Robert. “I was close to making that choice, you know. I was in Nottingham during the botched execution.” He nudged his chin toward me without looking over. “Saw her and the big man running down the street toward the gate. Then I saw Sir Guy of Gisborne behead that stark-white fellow. In broad daylight. I decided then, with my people, that the madness had to stop. What gave the Nottingham guard authority to do such a heinous thing—in front of women and children?”
Robert pursed his lips. He glanced over at me, and I nodded. That was exactly how it had happened, though I never saw Landon in my rush to get out of the city with Little John.
“You will join us, then?” Robert asked, hope in his voice.
“I will join the Oak Boys, Robert, because I don’t have a choice now. Me and the able-bodied lads of this village.”
Robert quirked a smile. “Landon, this is great—”
“Don’t think it means I’m joining the Merry Men, though,” he growled, thrusting a finger into Robert’s chest, speaking about us as if we weren’t standing right there. “Those sniveling bastards. At least the Oak Boys have a hint of gallantry in them. You keep your women in line. Have them working and making a difference. The Merry Men don’t.”
I bristled, realizing where the hatefulness inside Landon stemmed from. His disregard for my sex.
And he wasn’t done, either.
“This is evidence of their depravity,” he added, gesturing at Sir Charles’ dead body behind Robert, which was starting to gather flies from the window. “They are led by a woman, cocks tucked away like castrated pups. And have you seen what that whore Maid Marian has done—”
“I think that is quite enough out of you, Deputy Landon,” Little John said in a low, dangerous tone. He stepped forward from my side, incredibly imposing and huge. Even though Landon was a big man, he was no match for John’s sheer size and magnitude. “Unless you want to continue this line of rhetoric in a different venue. Outside, perhaps? In front of your people where we can measure cocks and get an honest opinion?”
I couldn’t help but smirk, and Will barked a wicked laugh. Tuck just shook his head, hand scratching his cheek.
My mind wheeled back to something Landon had just said, which made me curious. I wanted to let this play out, first, though.
Landon seethed and narrowed his eyes on Little John. For all his bluster, he wasn’t about to press John’s threat any further. “I’ll join you, Robert. But not these barbarians.”
Robert shot his eyes my direction. They were unreadable, slightly narrowed, yet I had a sneaking suspicion what he was about to say. My shoulders slumped in preparation.
“Landon, my friend,” he began, stepping in front of the man to steal his attention away from Little John. “If you join me and the Oak Boys . . . you follow Robin, too. We are aligned. We are a team. You can’t have it both ways. So choose.”
Silence, as my brother shocked the hell out of me by coming to my defense. Certainly not what I had been expecting him to say. He showed his true colors—the lengths he was willing to go to make our alliance work.
I grew a new layer of respect for my elder brother in that moment, and had to do everything in my power to hide my proud smile. Instead, I remembered what I was going to say, and broke the silence. “What did you mean about Maid Marian, Landon?”
He blinked, apparently still trying to decide if he wanted to join me and Robert. “Huh?”
“You asked if Robert had seen what Maid Marian has done. I’m assuming because you knew her as a former Merry Man. What did you mean?”
“You haven’t heard?” Landon scoffed. “In your own house?” His eyes swiveled between me and Robert.
I tilted my head, giving him an expectant look. No, asshole, we haven’t heard.
“She’s started a brothel of her own, girl,” he said to me. When my face blanched, he grinned—enjoying seeing me falter. “And is running it out of the Wilford estate. Your home.”
I LEFT RAVENSHEAD FEELING more uncertain and fearful of the future than when I’d gotten there, which was saying something considering how ominous Will’s urgent message had been. That wasn’t even taking into consideration Landon’s parting words about Maid Marian, which infuriated me beyond belief.
Turned out Will’s cryptic message about “anticipating trouble” had been entirely well-founded.
Worse than the uncertainty was the nagging sense that I had done something wrong. Killing one man in self-defense who tried to kill you was fine, but then doubling down and getting rid of all signs of evidence and loose ends—Sir Charles, in this case—seemed downright sinister.
If I hadn’t been going to Hell before today, I certainly was now.
Even worse than the sense of wrongness was the newfound leadership style I had unlocked with ruthless efficiency. The one that killed in cold blood, tried to cover up the crime, and then convince everyone else that the crime had never taken place. That their eyes deceived them. That violence was the answer when you couldn’t get things done through peaceful means.
It was . . . ugly. Messy. Brutal. I knew, in my heart, it was not who I was. Or at least not who I was meant to be.
Yet it also gave me a thrill—the satisfaction of getting a job done right, and getting away with it.
Maybe it is who I am? Maybe this is who I’ve become, and I need to reconcile that?
The five of us left Ravenshead in a state of chaos. A low-level simmer on the fire, ready to boil over and explode if word of Sir Charles and Initiate Brandt’s deaths got back to the Templar Knights.
There was nothing more we could do, for now, until we saw how the Templars reacted; how Sheriff George reacted; how Bishop Sutton—the highest-ranked priest in the vicinity, who called Ravenshead home—reacted.
We couldn’t take the fight to the Templars. We didn’t have the numbers. My fight was not with them, anyway. It was with Nottingham, same as it always had been. And now, I supposed, with Maid Marian. Also the same as it always has been, I thought morosely, bouncing on Mercy’s saddle.
My mates and Robert kept close to me on their horses, silent and exhausted as we rode most the afternoon to get back to the Merry Men’s camp. Our site was closer to Ravenshead than the Oak Boys’ camp, so it was decided Robert would stay with us for a time.
We needed to sleep, first. Shake off the ugliness of today. Then we needed to formulate a plan—a reactionary scheme to take on the Templar Knights, Maid Marian, Sheriff George, Guy of Gisborne, and all our other enemies that seemed to be sprouting up like weeds.
We were lucky, I supposed, that we’d had Robert in Ravenshead. At least that way we didn’t make an enemy of Landon, too, though it had been a close call.
In a way, our mission to Ravenshead had been entirely successful. The people got to keep William Elder’s estate, divvying it amongst themselves. I was sure they’d appreciate that. At the same time, we finally got to call them our allies, which meant bolstering our ranks.
Now, if we could just do that with the dozens of other villages in these parts, we might have the start of a formidable army. Then we could take the fight to the Templar Knights or the Sheriff of Nottingham, if it came down to it.
An hour out from camp, walking our horses down the main trade route, I spotted a figure pacing down the road in the same direction we were going, his back to us. He walked with a bow-legged gait, a staff and sack over his shoulder.
The man heard our hooves too late and tried to dart into the trees off the road after I’d already seen him.
I tilted my head, recognizing the flash of long white braids and dark skin I saw—unique for these parts.
Smiling, I stopped my horse near the bush that he’d jumped into. “Wulfric, is that you?”
The bush spoke, rustling. “Shit. We’re found.”
My smile widened. “You can poke your head out, friend. We are not enemies sent to kill you.”
“Sounds like something an enemy sent to kill me would say. You are bandits, no?”
I chuckled. Tossing a look over my shoulder, and my friends grinned. I found it interesting that things had come full circle: Robert went to Wulfric, and the healer told me where Robert was staying. Now we had found him in dire straits of his own.
“It’s me, Wulfric. Robin of Loxley.”
More rustling from the bush. His head popped up, his acorn-brown face glistening from the afternoon sun. “Robin of Loxley! What a surprise.”
“Hail,” I said with a small laugh. “What are you doing out on the road?”
He stepped out from the bush, dusting the leaves and twigs and spiderwebs off him. “Is a man not allowed to go for a stroll? Has the Sheriff criminalized that, too?”
I opened my mouth, ashamed and fearful I’d offended him. “No, I—”
“Only jesting, Robin of Loxley,” he snorted, flapping a hand at me. His eerie white-teethed smile disappeared just as quickly. “Had to depart the ancient ruin, sadly, I did. White knights showed up making a fuss.”
My brow lifted. “White knights? You mean the Templar Knights?”
“If you say so, lass. A midnight man like me knows what happens when alabaster men with giant red crosses show up. They proclaimed the site a ‘holy’ one, saying no ‘vagrants’ or ‘transients’ were allowed to sleep there. Can you believe it? My home? Holy? For whom, I ask myself.”
I blinked, trying to take everything in, because Wulfric spoke swiftly. “I am sorry.” I thought about looking over my shoulder, but then thought better of it. I don’t need to ask anyone for permission anymore. I need to stop looking to Little John for answers if I’m going to lead this outfit.
“Would you like to join us, Wulfric?” I asked. “At the Merry Men’s camp? We could always use a skilled herbalist and healer such as yourself. Our camp has been growing.”
He guffawed. “Join the outlaws?”
I pouted. “Sounds like the Templar Knights made you one without—”
“I would love to!”
“Oh.” I smiled crookedly at him. “Excellent. You can follow us or get on the back of my saddle—”
“And leave my four-legged friends by themselves? No, no. I know where it is, lass.”
Shock rippled through me. “You do? How?” When he opened his mouth, I waved a hand at him. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m not surprised you know where we’re staying.”
“Robin,” Little John said, sounding skeptical. “We have children at camp.”
“My wolves don’t eat children, silly giant,” Wulfric said with an incredulous snort. “They’re quite domesticated, you’ll see.” Before anyone else could answer, he swept into a low bow. “My pack will arrive at your location by nightfall, lass. We appreciate your generosity.”
I scratched my forehead. “Looking forward to it, my friend.”
With that, we continued down the road, as Wulfric muttered to himself about a stick poking his ass from the bush. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself, a nearby wolf we hadn’t seen, or who.
I supposed it didn’t matter. Either way, we had another new recruit.
RUNNING ACROSS WULFRIC by happenstance helped lift our moods as we made our way back to camp. He was undoubtedly a queer fellow, yet I knew he’d be helpful.
“Bess will enjoy him,” Robert told me, once we were pushing through the last of the trees into our camp. I could already smell a cooking fire and hear a low din of chatter, though we couldn’t see anyone yet.
“Oh?” I said.
“Aye,” Robert said, “he has expertise finding herbs and remedies in the forest. So does Bess. Perhaps they could combine their forces—scavenging and cooking—and create truly marvelous meals. Though I know Bess doesn’t much like having a man near her cook-fires.”
I chuckled. “Perhaps it will be a learning experience for both of them.”
“Yes, maybe so. They are of a similar age, after all.”
When I glanced back at my brother on his saddle, he bobbed his eyebrows at me. I picked up his insinuation quickly enough, and rolled my eyes.
“Robin!”
The angelic, lovely voice cut through the branches and vines, and my heart jumped to my throat.
Alan-a-Dale appeared through the trees, near the edge of our camp, with a smile on his face. He made a show of counting how many people we had with us, and breathed a huge sigh when he realized we’d all returned. Plus Robert.
I dismounted from Mercy before she had come to a complete stop, and sprinted toward my mate through the branches.
He wrapped me in a fierce embrace when I lunged at him, twirling me around, and I tucked my face into the nook of his shoulder and smooth cheek.
I whispered, “I missed you so badly, Alan,” I murmured.
“Me too, little songbird. Me too. Thank heavens you’re okay.” He pulled me to arm’s length, searched my face with arched brows—analyzing me for damage—and kissed me.
I inhaled his taste, his scent, his essence. Alan-a-Dale was perhaps the most positive influence in my life, and the most positive for everyone else in camp. Maybe that’s what I was missing while I was gone, and why my thoughts skewed so dark? I didn’t have the music and lightness of my minstrel.
A smile came to my lips. “I’m fine, Alan. I promise.”
He checked my cheeks, my ears, narrowing his eyes as he doted over me like I was his pet. “I’ll be the judge of that, love.”
My smile widened.
Content with how I looked, Alan’s face twisted into a frown, catching me off-guard. “You won’t be keeping that smile for long, I’m afraid,” he said.
“What do you mean?” My heart pitter-pattered in my chest, fear rushing through me, up to my throat.
“We’ve had a visitor arrive since you’ve been gone. Quite a few, in fact. This one seems most pertinent, however. I didn’t know what to do with her.” He shrugged at Little John, Tuck, and Will as they approached us on foot, bringing their horses behind them.
“Who?” I asked.
“Well met, Robin. Giant John.”
Maid Marian appeared from the foliage behind Alan, a crimson-lipped smirk on her face.