Chapter 21 | Robin
“Thank God you’re back!” I yelled as I pushed through the crowd of Merry Men to get to Little John and Robert.
I made for John first, throwing a tight embrace around his broad shoulders, even before he’d handed his horse off to the stableman.
Robert snickered. “See. Told you. Worried about her mammoth.”
John tensed while hugging me. “Quiet, Loxley.”
I pulled back to look between them, askance. “Have you two become . . . friends while gallivanting through Sherwood Forest?”
Robert scoffed and waved me off.
John said, “Had a wager about who you were more worried about. He won.”
A divot formed between my brow as I put my hands on my hips, like a scolding mother. “I’ll have you know I wasn’t worried about either of you. I’m just happy you’ve returned. And just in time—”
“She’s lying,” Friar Tuck bellowed from behind me. I turned as he wagged a finger at my face. “Damn woman couldn’t stop pacing long enough to eat. Was making me nauseous with how distressed—”
“Oh, shut it, bastard,” I scolded him, with a hint of a smirk curling my lip.
He smiled at me. “Little heathen bitch.”
For some reason, his words made me hot between the legs. I didn’t mind when my mates talked to me like that. Anyone else? They’d earn an arrow through the throat.
There was no time for any of that, however. I dragged John with me and we made our way through camp. Merry Men parted as we went north to south around tents, campfires, and shrubbery. Everyone eyed us curiously.
“Will found something while you were gone,” I told him.
John grunted. “Good. Because we didn’t find shit.”
“Other than . . . them.”
I furrowed my brow again—worried I might get stuck like that if I kept doing it—and turned at Robert’s voice.
A ragtag band of men and women were making their way through the trees behind my brother. I recognized none of them. A tight knot formed in my stomach at the sight of them: bedraggled, unkempt, and filthy.
“These are the aptly named Muddy Meddlers,” Robert explained, scratching his forehead. “Led by, uh, Armison?”
The man named Armison strode to the front of his group. He had a slight limp, a crooked jaw, and a twitchy face. Looked rather harmless, besides the mess of scars on his right arm that said he’d seen a few battles at least.
“He’s got it right, m’lady,” the man said, bowing low. “You must be the legendary woman who leads the Merry Men. The Queen of Sherwood . . . Robin Hood.”
His people behind him gasped. The two women—an older lass with graying eyes and grayer hair, and a young girl around my age—gave me confident smiles. They looked encouraging.
John folded his huge arms. He seemed content with what he was seeing from the group, the deference they showed me.
I, however, was flabbergasted. I blinked a few times, stunned, and stammered. “I, er—”
“She very much is,” John said in his deep baritone. With a dashing smile beneath his beard, he raised his fist. “All hail the Queen of Sherwood!”
A smattering of cheers rose from the Merry Men around us, fists pumped into the sky. They repeated the chant a couple times, and Robert walked up beside me.
My brother leaned in close. “Sorry, sister. I tried to talk him out of it.”
“Inviting them?”
Robert nodded. “John said you’d be remiss if we left stragglers behind. I disagreed. We have no space.”
“We’ll figure it out, brother.”
The Muddy Meddlers were all smiling now, finding themselves the center of attention in front of me.
“What say you, Robin Hood?” John asked.
Pink tinted my cheeks. My skin felt flush. I was embarrassed and entirely undeserving of everyone’s praise.
But I tried my best to do what Little John would do in this situation: lean into it. Clapping my hands, I said, “Well, as we always say, the more the merrier!”
Everyone cheered.
“We’ve literally never said that,” came Will’s voice from behind the group, swiftly putting a stopper on the merriment.
My surly warrior looked more attractive than a devil, and he could be as infuriating as one, too.
“We do now!” I shouted with a beaming smile, but the effect was lost once Will took all the wind out of everyone’s sails.
In his hands, he twirled the grimy torn fabric he’d found, holding it up to his scarlet sash as if trying to see whether it would make a good replacement or not.
“Fucking hell, Scarlet,” Tuck sighed.
Frowning, Will marched in front of the Muddy Meddlers. Their smiles were gone. They stiffened, straight-backed as he studied their faces, garments, and demeanor. “Can you fight?” he asked the group.
Armison nodded for them. “We’ve been known to. Especially for Robin Hood.”
“That’s not what I asked. You won’t be fighting for Robin Hood, you’ll be fighting for your lives.”
Armison shrugged, unbothered. He didn’t seem put-off by Will. “Aren’t the lives of every Merry Man equal? That’s what we’ve heard. It’s what brought us to you—”
“Every life but hers,” Will growled, and thrust a finger behind him at me.
The man named Armison smiled. “As I said, sir: We fight for her.”
A few snickers swept through the group. It wasn’t often someone disagreed with Will Scarlet and didn’t earn harsh retaliation. The orphan boys and girls he’d been training to the bone loved to see it.
I already liked this fellow, Armison. He wasn’t afraid to stand up for himself or his people. Plus, I didn’t agree with Will, even though he announced it: I wasn’t more important than any man or woman here. That was the whole damned point. It was also why I didn’t like being called “Queen,” because we were trying to move away from kings and queens, far as I was concerned.
“You’re Will Scarlet,” said the gray-haired woman in the group. “Fiercest fighter in the shire.”
Will nodded. “I’ll be training you to fight like me.”
“We’ll be ready, sir,” the woman replied.
Will gave her an impressed pout. He turned to me and said, “I must admit liking their fire. Some of our own whelps could learn a thing or two from people who’ve clearly been in the shit once or twice.”
“Hoy . . .” Armison began, but trailed off.
Rosco, Tick, Jimmy, Griff—the boys who had snickered at Armison’s defiance of Will—wilted and made themselves scarce in the background. Knowing Will, they’d be facing double-duty tomorrow during training, and Tick punched Rosco in the shoulder for instigating the laugh-fest.
“Wulfric, Bess, see that these folks get a meal and a place to stay,” I ordered. My voice grew serious. “We have work to do, Merry Men. We’ll be needing all of you soon, to help conduct a raid. It will be dangerous.”
Everyone inched a bit closer. I had over two dozen men and women around me, and many more beyond that. All of them ready to fight for our cause. I had to hope we fought for good and justice tonight, because they believed we were.
I couldn’t let them down.
I also didn’t take for granted how far I’d come, and what it looked like with all those stern, hopeful faces staring at me. They were counting on me, and I saw the pride clear as day in my mates’ eyes.
If it weren’t for the time-sensitive nature of our mission tonight, I would’ve taken my boys out of the glade and pounced on them all over again. No hallucinogenic plants needed this time.
“I’m assuming what you’re speaking of has something to do with what Will found?” John asked.
I nodded, walked over to Will, and snatched the muddy-white garment he was toying with out of his hands. I held it up for all to see, showing the worn red cross of the Templar Knights across its front. “The path of the Templar,” I announced, “is the northeastern road heading from Nottingham to Ravenshead. If our intelligence is correct, it will be the path our mark takes. We don’t know when. Possibly tonight, so we will be ready.”
My eyes locked on Maid Marian’s over Will’s shoulder. She met my gaze, staring daggers, and firmed her shapely jaw.
I couldn’t tell her out loud, but I tried to do it with my eyes: You’d better not be fucking with us, Marian, or it’s your head I’ll come after.
THE SUN HAD VANISHED behind the trees completely. A purple sky greeted us, forlorn and vast, as we rode our steeds hard underneath the blanket of night.
I rode with my mates beside me. The Merry Men. I’d sent a few others to the western road to watch, just in case we got this wrong.
If we were wrong, there wouldn’t be time enough to regroup and attack Bishop Sutton’s carriage before he reached Ravenshead. At least we’d know we’d been duped, so we wouldn’t have to sit out here all night and freeze our tits off.
The chill was biting. I asked Will on the way, “What about Alan?”
“The dandelion rode with me for most of my search, then continued on to Ravenshead, like you asked.”
I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. “I hate leaving him alone like this.”
“He’ll be fine, little thorn. The man can talk his way out of anything.”
I rolled my eyes. “Aye. Talking. That’s what I’m worried about.”
Will chuckled.
We continued on in silence, with only the steady drumbeat of our hooves keeping our minds company.
It took us nearly two hours to reach the bend in the road where Will had found the scrap of cloth. It was an advantageous spot for an ambush, but I was sure Sutton’s guards would also know that. They would come in force.
“No fires,” I told the Merry Men as we made camp inside a ring of thick trees and foliage. Faces were painted black with tar. Hoods were drawn, including my own, giving credence to my moniker of Robin Hood.
Tonight, I had only brought our veterans. The whelps weren’t ready for such an important mission. The women stayed back at camp, preparing a late-supper meal. Hopefully a celebratory one.
I had been tricked before into leaving my camp unguarded, and it ended in disaster. I wasn’t going to let that happen again, so I had begrudgingly left Uncle Gregory behind. Together, with the other Oak Boys fighters, I knew he’d defend our camp with his life.
We weren’t the poorly manned gang of thieves we’d once been. There were over eighty Merry Men and Oak Boys at camp, all of whom were ready to defend themselves and their loved ones.
With me, I had the usual suspects—Little John, Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck—as well as Robert, Briggs, Tate, Jamie, Griff, and even Wulfric because he was too excitable not to join, and he seemed able to command the very forest around him. Low growls met us on all sides, his wolves hidden beneath the undergrowth. Ten other fighters, lesser known but just as important, joined our company.
We were no less than twenty warriors, coming fully armed and ready for battle. We didn’t know what to expect from Bishop Sutton’s entourage, but given his importance in this part of England, and the weight of his holy task, I imagined he would come bringing similar numbers.
If he came at all.
We waited for what seemed like hours. The night grew cold, nearly unbearable without any fires to heat our bones. We couldn’t give ourselves away, so we weathered the chill, like stalkers of the night, peering out from wreaths and under branches. Some men perched high up in trees, bows drawn. Others tapped their feet and bounced their knees nervously on the ground, waiting for any sign.
I thought it would never come—that we had either mistimed our approach or were wildly misguided about what was going on here.
I started to worry. Of course. I had my uncle back at camp, knowing he and his best wouldn’t be able to stop an army. What if they don’t send a single company to raid our camp while we’re gone, and instead bring an entire regiment?
What if Maid Marian has played us all for fools, as I’ve been warned she might do?
What if the sign was wrong, and Sutton is already in Ravenshead after having gone easily down the western path?
There were too many things that could go wrong. Too many variables. Even our best laid schemes weren’t foolproof, and I’d be a damned jester to think otherwise.
I started to wonder if I should turn around, expecting a messenger from the western road or from camp to meet us.
Then, three hours in, when the moon was at its highest point in the sky and cast a murky glow on the land . . . it began.
I sat up on my log, rigid as I’d ever been. A rustling sound echoed softly, from far away, whistling through the branches like a hesitant ghost. Just barely reaching my ears.
Then the soil and roots beneath my feet began to rumble. Gently, at first.
Will Scarlet’s sinister voice was the one that perked everyone’s ears and made our blood run cold.
“You hear that creaking, boys? Feel that shaking?” He licked his lips. “Sounds like dinner is on its way.”