Chapter 24 | Robin
Iwas in over my head.
We had Bishop Sutton tied to a tree, arms pinned to his sides. Ropes bound him, cutting into his robes, and he faced outward at the half-circle of Merry Men standing over him.
I wasn’t even sure what questions to ask him. I was dead tired from a long day. Troubled over the dark, vicious sensations that had flared to life while slaughtering those Nottingham guards.
We had killed each and every one of them.
Once upon a time, I might have tried to parley. Negotiate a trade for Sutton to keep men from dying.
But our numbers had been nearly equal. We had used our bows and the trees to our advantage, so we came out on top. It could have easily gone the other way, and I knew no soldier would have ever handed over a bishop of England to outlaws.
Negotiations had been an impossibility.
Now what were we supposed to do? We had one of the most important people in the land in front of us, splayed out like a trussed pig over a fire.
He didn’t squirm or even look angry. His old, weathered face was taut, but he kept himself together.
To me, he looked like a gentle old man. Kind eyes, with lines creasing at the corners. A holy man in his white robes and splendor. We hadn’t even snatched the gold necklace off his person, which was worth more than all of our belongings.
It just felt . . . wrong, to steal such an item from a man of God. As if God would smite us on the spot for blaspheming his chosen priest.
I had little to go on. Only the words of Maid Marian, as told from the mouth of Sir Guy of Gisborne—a notoriously sly, cunning individual. A man whose loyalties I couldn’t figure out.
Have we made a huge mistake stealing this man?
Will his disappearance bring undue pressure to the Merry Men, just when we’re starting to really find our feet?
I tried to tell myself we’d taken him because of the crimes alleged against him. Namely, that he had been the mastermind behind the sex slaving operation.
In my heart, however, I knew we had also captured Bishop Sutton to tie up loose ends. Because if he went snooping in Ravenshead, and spoke to the wrong person, he would quickly learn that we were responsible for the deaths of Sir Charles and Initiate Brandt.
Which would bring a world of pain and death to our doorstep.
I bit my lip, staring down at him, and he looked up at me from his knees.
“I won’t ask why I’m here,” Sutton said, frowning. “I am sure it is a misunderstanding, and if you release me now, I will pray for your souls and make sure nothing comes of this.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. He spoke softly enough to be a priest. Didn’t remind me of Abbot Emery whatsoever.
Surrounding me was Little John, Will Scarlet, and my brother Robert. A bevy of teary-eyed Merry Men were behind us a fair distance, putting Jamie and our comrades’ bodies to rest. We were still waiting on Alan-a-Dale to return from Ravenshead with his report.
One noticeable absence from our small crew in front of Sutton was Friar Tuck. He had locked himself away in his tent, and I hadn’t seen him in over an hour, since we’d returned from the battle.
I hoped I hadn’t lost him for good.
Shaking my head, I tried to think of the task at hand.
I was back in that carriage, surrounded by scared girls, drugged and lost, set to be traded on an illicit market for lecherous bastards across England and abroad.
Raped and beaten. Fighting for our lives.
Anger swelled inside me. The rage carried me forward a step. I said to Sutton, “There’s been no mistake.”
“Oh?” Sutton tilted his head. “What is it you think you have against me, dear woman?” His eyes moved to my left, to Little John. “Jonathan? I remember you from your jail cell in Nottingham. Did I not pay you respect? Treat you like a man worthy of life?”
“You did. We had good talks.” Little John grunted. “You also gave me my Last Rites with your sly tongue, Father. Unbeknownst to me.”
Deep grooves formed in the priest’s forehead. “I promise you I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Is that so?” I snapped. “Did you know what you were talking about when you stood atop the gallows, ready to damn innocent men to Hell with nooses around their necks?”
“Innocent?” Sutton scoffed, shaking his head. “None of those men were innocent of crimes.”
“They were innocent of being Merry Men! You lied to the entire populace of Nottingham, to simply suit Sheriff George’s wishes. Meanwhile, George held Little John captive and . . . and . . .”
I cut myself off before I could expose John.
“Ah,” Sutton said after a beat. “Is that what this is about? Do you consider my Rites to damned men—men whose crimes and punishments I had nothing to do with—to be vile and wicked, Robin of Loxley?”
I gulped. “I . . . don’t know. We’re getting off track.”
“What do you mean, lass?”
“That’s not why you’re here, Bishop Sutton.”
The frown on his face deepened. “Then please, enlighten me. These ropes are digging into my bones, you know.”
“We’re not loosening the ropes, you squirrelly old man.”
Sutton chuckled to himself. “Aye, I suspected as much. For whatever reason, I’m your captive. I suppose I’ll get used to it, however long this lasts.”
“How does it feel, Sutton? To be a prisoner?”
His nose wrinkled. “What are you getting at, girl?”
“There have been horrible crimes lodged against you, Father, and we’re here to force the truth out of you.”
“The truth? About what?”
I let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at my mates and Robert. They all looked at me encouragingly, as if willing me to say the words I needed to say.
But my mind was addled. I was too tired for this conversation right now. There were Merry Men weeping and saying prayers right behind us, giving Jamie and the others burials.
This was a conversation better had over a morning meal, perhaps.
I crouched in front of Sutton. “We will leave you tonight to rest, Bishop, because you’ve had a trying day. We all have.”
“Aye, you slaughtered the guards trying to escort me on my holy mission. God does not look favorably—”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t give a shit what God thinks right now. I’m tired. But I’d like to paint a picture for you, if I may, so you might ponder it while you get some shuteye.”
He closed his mouth and studied my features, his eyes softening.
“A weighty bag of coins in a carriage, Father. And above the floorboards where the bag is hidden? Countless young women and girls, tied to benches, watching their lives and dignity slip away with each creaking spin of the carriage’s wheels that drags them further and further from their homes.”
I was inches from Bishop Sutton’s face.
Close enough that only I saw the momentary flash of shock on his face. The twitch of his sagging chin. The pulse of a vein in his temple. The fear in his eyes.
Fear that told me, without him needing to say a thing or try to defend himself, that I had him.
His momentary expression told me one thing, because I’d seen it on countless scheming men before.
Guilt.
Sir Guy wasn’t lying to us. Maid Marian wasn’t lying to us.
Bishop Sutton knew exactly what I was talking about.
And, with it being such a tight, well-kept secret, he could’ve only known what I was talking about if he’d somehow been involved.
I ENTERED FRIAR TUCK’S tent. He was reclined on his cot, using his habit as a blanket behind him, the garb loosely tied at the front. His hands formed a steeple on his slightly raised belly.
“Little heathen,” Tuck grumbled as I entered unannounced. “Have you beaten the truth out of Bishop Sutton yet?”
I frowned, then came to sit by his cot, resting my head on his arm and staring out. His body was warm, soft, and everything I missed.
“We missed you out there,” I murmured.
“I won’t apologize, Robin. You know I don’t condone what you’re doing out there. I simply can’t, in good faith.”
Even as he said the words, his hand came to rest on my head, absentmindedly twirling strands of my hair.
I closed my eyes, nearly falling asleep on the spot. With a soft purr, nuzzling closer to him, I said, “Please. I don’t want to argue right now.”
“Neither do I. Too tired for it.”
My hand crept up and disappeared under the loose hold of his habit. “Too tired for this, too?” I asked slyly, my hand trailing over his thick cock.
He grabbed my wrist. “Never. But is it right?”
My brow threaded together. “Right?”
“We lost three today, Robin. Even now, I hear our band drinking their losses and burying our dead. Jamie was a good man. I didn’t know the other two as well, but they were fighters, through and through.”
My hand lifted from his appendage and trickled off his body. Begrudgingly. I felt guilty for even prying, because he spoke true.
My mind wasn’t right—hadn’t been in some time—and I was looking for a feeble way out of thinking about all the misery that surrounded the camp. A meaningless gesture that I was trying only so Tuck would hopefully forgive me.
“I’m sorry,” I said shamefully, bowing my head.
He leaned over, tilted my chin, and kissed me with his soft lips. His voice caressed my ear. “Never apologize to me, little heathen.” He continued to run his hand gently through my hair.
I let out another low moan, closing my eyes to accept his love. “Even for capturing Bishop Sutton?”
“You acted on good information. Well, as good as information from Sir Guy of Gisborne could be. But you were also in that carriage with those girls, Robin. I don’t blame you for wanting vengeance against your attackers.”
I smirked. “Isn’t vengeance unbecoming of a priest?”
“I’m not a priest.”
“Then why do you care what happens to one?”
“Because Bishop Sutton once aided me. He was a good man when I knew him.”
“How?”
I leaned close to Tuck, wanting to bury myself in him and listen to him talk. His voice was calming, deep, and magnetic. I could listen to it all day—preferably when I was more wakeful.
“After I caught a priest molesting a boy in his charge, and then I nailed that priest’s severed hands to the doors of the cathedral, I found myself in dire straits. Sutton helped me keep my head, even if I was excommunicated. He all but helped me escape my predicament, because he knew the truth about what had happened, when no one else wanted to believe me. He knew the misdeeds and ugliness that festered in the Church just as well as anyone, and he didn’t shy away from it.”
I nodded slowly. “Which is why you can’t see him doing something like what he’s been accused of . . .”
“Aye. It’s not in his nature.”
I opened my eyes and lifted my head a fraction from his side. “Is it possible, though, that he was corrupted somewhere along the way, in the time you’ve been gone from the Church, Tuck? That he lost his way and became the very thing he was trying to fight against?”
“I have trouble believing that.”
“I know, love. What has he done in the years since you last saw him as a contemporary?”
“He’s become a bishop.”
I stared into Tuck’s dark eyes, both of us trapped in the blackness of the tent. It was safe and warm in here, even if it was chaotic and dangerous outside this tarp.
I wondered if he could read my eyes to see what I was trying to say without saying it.
After a beat, I gave up the nonverbal attempt.
“He became a bishop, Tuck. That’s exactly it.”
“Exactly what?”
“He’s shown ambition.”
Tuck reeled. “Ambition does not equal—”
“He’s also read off the crimes of falsely accused men, in front of hundreds of commoners. You were there to see it. With no qualms, he condemned Dan the Dove as if he was Little John. He saw it fit to hang those men he accused of being Merry Men, all for the cheers and love of the populace.”
Tuck fell quiet. He steepled his hands on his belly again, staring up at the softly shaking tarp ceiling. “I had a chance to kill him during that riot, you know.”
My eyebrows perked up.
“I let him go. I was so damned angry. Since he had saved me once, I was repaying my debt.”
“So you owe him nothing now.”
Tuck nodded.
“And you know what he did was wrong.”
“It still doesn’t make him a slaver, Robin.”
I leaned back against him, looking away, and sighed. “I know that, Tuck. All I’m saying is he’s capable of lying, of profiting off the suffering of others. He has ambition and drive, and with power like that, he could easily wield it to do great evil. If he’s that kind of man.”
“It’s a big if you’re asking, lass.”
“That’s where we disagree. Because I’ve known men my entire life—”
“So have I.”
“—and I know what they’re capable of. Even the kindliest, friendliest face you’ll ever see.”
He paused a beat. Then: “I wish you weren’t so cynical, little heathen.”
I snorted. “And I wish you weren’t so honest and good.”
“I’m far from good, love. I killed men with my bare hands tonight.”
With my eyes growing droopy, I said, “I won’t push you to join me on this anymore, Tuck. I understand your position. But I have to ask you to allow me to do this. To exhaust every option, every search, every question—”
“You have it, Robin. You always have my acceptance. I’ll never try to steal something so important from you, lass, because I love you. You must know that.”
“And I love you, Tuck. Always.”
We fell into companionable silence, my head in his lap. The wave of tension between us felt lifted, and I smiled as I closed my eyes for the final time.
“Promise me one thing, Robin.”
I nodded vaguely, already drifting off. The world of the living and the world of dreams mingled together into one cohesive wave, and I couldn’t tell the two apart.
“Promise me you won’t kill him.”
I said nothing for a long time. Thought nothing, because I was already going under.
Then, just before I slipped away into a deep slumber, I mumbled, “I promise, Tuck.”
I might not have sounded convincing. Might not have even thought much of it, because I didn’t go through all the stipulations or possibilities, or try to unpack what he was asking of me and what it meant.
It didn’t matter, because Tuck had asked it of me. I loved Tuck and wanted us to be right, so I would do as he asked.
All I knew, for certain, was that I desperately wanted to believe my promise.