Chapter 27 | Robin
The light morning sun basked across my skin, and my eyes fluttered open. I lay between my mates in a tangle of limbs. Friar Tuck sat at the edge of the river in front of us, staring into the rushing water.
John, Will, and Alan began to rustle awake when I sat up curiously. “Tuck,” I called out.
He looked over his shoulder. “You’re awake. Good.”
“What’s wrong?”
His shoulders were slumped as he tossed small pebbles into the river. “What’s wrong, little heathen?” he asked in a jarring tone. “It’s a somber day. We bury the dead today. I feel the constricting grasp of Sheriff George closing in around us, lass, and it unnerves me.”
“That’s why we must leave after saying our eulogies,” John said, wiping bleariness from his eyes with the heels of his palms.
I nodded, glancing at him, and blushed. The stain of our bawdy affair last night remained on his features. I couldn’t tell if the expression in his eyes was one of sadness, regret, or lust—if he wanted to do it all over again, or if he was ashamed for how things went down.
I wasn’t sure how to feel, either. I wouldn’t apologize for what I’d done, all but demanding love and attention from my mates. They understood me better than anyone, even when I didn’t understand myself.
Plus, it had been incredibly erotic and invigorating.
On the other hand, sex should have been the last thing on my mind after the back-to-back battles we faced. The death, the abduction, the fires. It was like we were trapped in some special room in Hell made only for us, and the only way out was through the fire.
I hope I haven’t lost the respect of Robert, Uncle Gregory, and the others after what they heard or saw me do last night. I pray we can move forward, and they chalk it up to a temporarily addled mind and body. Because I surely wasn’t myself.
The thoughts made me wonder, for the millionth time, what was going on with me. It was almost like a hex had been placed on my soul, corrupting me more and more, and I could hardly recognize myself from the so-called villains these days.
Killing no less than fifteen Nottingham guards on the road, all to capture Bishop Sutton? Those were men with families and futures, and we snuffed them out because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Yes, Sutton had been a repulsive figure, if the accusations were true. And seeing the shock in his eyes, the anger in his voice when he spoke to the girls surrounding him as if they were lesser beings, I had no doubt his truth had been revealed.
Still . . . was killing so many just to silence him worth it? Did our actions not make us just as bad as the tyrants we fought against?
And then there was Bishop Sutton’s death we had to contend with. A surprising turn of events, which took away all of our potential leverage against Sheriff George. A ransom could no longer take place. Sutton had been a means to stop the attacks on Sherwood Forest and its villages. Now that he was gone, they would redouble their efforts.
“Sutton’s death has damned us,” Will Scarlet said, as if reading my mind. He groaned and stood to his feet, searching for his clothes.
I ogled his pristine, scarred body for a moment, eyes dwelling over every dip and plane. When I blinked and nodded, my head hung low. “Do you blame Enid and the others for what they did, though?”
“Nay, I don’t,” Will replied with a grunt. “I were in their boots, I’d have done the same damn thing. I suppose it’s something we should have anticipated or thought of before bringing Sutton to camp.”
“The entire affair was a debacle,” Alan-a-Dale sighed. He threw on his pants, pulling them up, and scavenged for his tunic somewhere near the bank of the river. “As I told the others last night while you slept, little songbird, soldiers are gathering en masse at Ravenshead. It appears they were duped into following a trail Bishop Sutton did not take.”
“How many soldiers are we talking?”
“Nearing fifty. With many more to come, I fear. Some of them were sent to search the eastern road for signs of Sutton, effectively splitting their regiment. Once they find evidence of the carriages, and the dead bodies, wrath will rain down upon us.”
“We can’t do anything about it now,” Little John said. “Our numbers are low, morale is low. We’ve only just started recovering from last night. Even with the Oak Boys, we don’t have the numbers to bring the fight to them. Even if we did, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Why not?” Will snapped. “Let’s fucking kill them all, before they can kill us.”
“Because it does nothing for us, you angry bastard. All it does it perpetuate the cycle of violence we’re trying to get away from. It would also destroy Ravenshead as we know it.”
“If Ravenshead isn’t already razed . . .” Tuck mumbled from the riverbank.
Will scolded John. “You’re starting to sound like Robin.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” John posed. “To wish for peace, finally, after so many years of us struggling, Will?”
Will crossed his arms defiantly, shaking his head. “It’s clear we won’t get out of this situation without a fight. I’m sure of that as anything.”
“Agreed,” I said, standing. All eyes turned to me and my naked body. I quickly found my clothes and put them on, not wishing for anymore attention now that a new day had brought new command to my mind and lustful impulses. “Our fight isn’t with every soldier and guard of Nottingham, though, Will. That won’t get us the results we desire.”
“Then who are we killing?” Will snarled.
Always a one-track mind, that one.
“The Sheriff of Nottingham. He’s been our primary enemy since the start of this, and I fear we lost sight of it by trying to maneuver around him. To avoid him. Bishop Sutton, Sir Guy, even Maid Marian at some points. They are a smaller picture of the larger whole.”
Little John grunted in acceptance, and his head bobbed with a firm nod. “Agreed, little star. It’s time we make the Sheriff our focal point again. Especially given what the Muddy Meddlers did to us last night.”
That was right. I’d nearly forgotten that the man Armison, in his dying breaths, had claimed Sheriff George as his patron. Those seven scraggly bandits—who had looked so much like every other bandit I’d ever known—had been undercover operatives for the Sheriff.
They knew all of our secrets.
Well, not all of them . . . yet.
“What’s our move, then?” Alan-a-Dale asked. “Smarter minds than mine would say we’ve found ourselves waist-high in shit.”
I followed my twisting thoughts about Sutton and the Muddy Meddlers, furrowing my brow. Moving my gaze from the bright green grass to my mates, I said, “There’s an issue of timing we could work in our favor.”
“How so?” Will asked.
“That Meddler who got away last night on horseback—no doubt he’s in Nottingham by now. He didn’t see Bishop Sutton’s fate. His report to George can only explain that we have Sutton as our captive. Not that he’s dead.”
“True.” John pulled at his beard while thinking. “I’m not sure yet how we can use that to our advantage.”
“Neither am I. But it’s something. As long as we can keep that farce up, we may be able to weasel out of this.”
“Nonsense,” Tuck said, standing with a groan from the bank. He had been more oppositional as of late, yet I couldn’t blame him—the former holy man saw his flock going down a dark road. “There’s no weaseling out of this, Robin. Our souls are already on a tenuous precipice. Beyond that, ‘weaseling out of this’ is exactly the kind of thing we need to go against right now. For the sake of morale. We need to act decisively.”
My eyebrows jumped up my forehead. I hadn’t expected that response from Tuck. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with the angry little fucker, but Scarlet is right. We need to bring the fight to them. As you mentioned, Sheriff George must fall. Right now, with George believing Sutton is in our possession, he will be rounding the Knights Templar to fight a holy crusade against us. Sutton’s capture—and especially his death, once it’s revealed—will only work to bolster the fraught relationship between George and the Knights Templar leadership. As I feared might happen, we now have two forces working against us, rather than one.”
“Perhaps we can use Sir Guy,” I said.
Everyone looked at me askance.
I sighed, hands on my hips. “I know you all think I’m mad. You also didn’t have an explanation for why Guy would send the Meddlers into our camp after he’d helped us catch Sutton. I think it’s time you all at least entertain the idea that he’s working in the shadows against George.”
John’s eyes flashed dark. “Robin. We all watched that man hold a dagger to your throat, and drip blood from your flesh. You told us yourself that your body was bared to him in those shackles when you were imprisoned—”
“He covered me with my cloak!”
John firmed his mouth, his upper lip twitching. “You can’t blame us for never trusting that despicable fucking worm. That’s something we cannot do, and you need to recognize that.”
The other three nodded in unison, all of them in complete agreement for once.
With a heavy sigh, my shoulders sagged. Fine. Then I’ll be the only one. It’s frightening, placing any trust in a man who has worked against us so often. Yet what options do we have? He is the closest opportunity we have against Sheriff George.
Luckily for me, I was the leader of this damned group. I didn’t want to do anything that went against the Merry Men’s beliefs or trust in me, but if I found an opening to use Sir Guy to our benefit—as he had used us so many times before—then I would gladly take it. I could deal with the fallout among my mates later.
“Let’s get back to camp and start packing to move locations,” I said, ignoring all the intrusive thoughts about Guy of Gisborne. My mates were right, to a degree, and nothing I could say would make them change their minds about him. I had to accept that, as Little John had pointed out.
“Aye, before we lose the band even swifter than we have been, with our prolonged absence,” Will said.
“I think they’re starting to realize that we’re an odd bunch,” Alan pointed out, raising a finger.
I chuckled, shaking my head. My cheeks flushed as I recalled last night, and I was pleased that our savage tryst in the woods had overshadowed the horrors of the events before it.
At least for the time being. I knew once we went back to camp and reconciled the destruction, death, and devastation, that the reality of our situation would hit harder.
I needed to be strong for our people, and so did my mates. We needed to have answers and show unquestionable support for each other. That was how we were going to get through this newest chapter of grief in the lives of the Merry Men and Oak Boys.
“You are forgetting an important thing we must do before any of it,” Friar Tuck said, drawing our attention to his sad, frowning face. “We must bury our dead and make their journey to Heaven a pleasant one . . .” As he trailed off, I watched his belly rise and fall heavily, as if he was coming to acceptance of his own. “. . . And then we have to do something with Bishop Sutton’s body, too, to hurry his journey along to Hell.”
ROBERT AND UNCLE GREGORY had thankfully taken over in our absence. With the leader of the Merry Men gone—the designated boss of our alliance—my brother took place as captain.
With the help of some of his people, Robert had rested every corpse in a line in the middle of camp. None of them had tarps over them to hide their ashen, scarred faces, or the wounded expressions on their gray cheeks.
It was a horrible sight to see. Poor Maria, who had helped me live to see the light of today, had a gnarled slit throat. The smoldered man from last night had been identified as one of Robert’s Oak Boys. Six Muddy Meddlers joined the group of dead, and Merry Men spit on their carcasses as they passed them. Jamie and the two others from the abduction raid lay in perpetual grimaces of pain.
Friar Tuck gave them each the sign of the cross and spoke of the people he’d known. He spoke of Maria’s resilience, explaining how she had come to him in a time of need, recently, and conversed with him about God. About His existence and her struggles to believe when so much strife and misery surrounded us.
His story about Maria, and their parting words and embrace, brought tears to my eyes. I’d had no idea Tuck had had any kind of relationship with the young lady, and it made me feel stronger knowing that he had played a small part in her life, showing her acceptance and understanding.
I hoped she brought a bit of Tuck with her to the pearly gates.
Griff watched the entire procession morosely, near me, with a devastated expression on his young face. He looked dejected and defeated. The lad had vowed to protect Maria. He blamed himself for her death.
It wasn’t fair. No one could have anticipated the nighttime ambush. We all took some of the blame, surely—me for being so trusting, opening up our camp to anyone who wished to join or said the right words. Little John, I knew, also blamed himself, because it had been his urging to my brother that brought the Meddlers to our camp in the first place.
John had only been a conduit for my own directives, however, so I knew the burden of blame rested squarely on my shoulders.
None of that—the blame, the regret, the shame—would change the outcome now. We had to move forward, and Friar Tuck did an excellent job of reminding us of our duty to each other.
“We are a community because of Robin Hood,” he said in his sermon over the dead bodies. “Not despite her. The moment we take away that caring attitude and shut ourselves off from the other outlaws and wronged citizens of England, is the day we lose ourselves completely.”
Tuck closed his Bible and spoke from the heart, looking out at the congregation of every man and woman, boy and girl, in camp. We numbered over fifty Merry Men, and more than that again with Oak Boys included. These had been unfathomable numbers to me in the past, and I couldn’t take it for granted.
We had the chance to really do something here, if we played our hand right. Change was possible.
Tuck said, “We cannot let the actions of a vile man like Sheriff George of Nottingham dictate our beliefs or scare us into changing our ways. Understand? We must rise above his denigrations, his wickedness, and continue our efforts to build the best damned community we can. Robin Hood is our leader in that, and will help guide us to our goals. We must remember Maria, Jamie, and the others, as markers to signify our growth. These strong-willed men and women are noble sacrifices to our cause, and we must never forget them. May they rest in peace. Amen.”
Every bowed head nodded in agreement, echoing his word: “Amen.”
Less than two hours later, I found Maid Marian gathering her belongings, which were sparse. She had come in little more than a tight gown.
I found Marian bent over in her tent. “You’re coming with us?”
She bounced up in surprise, spinning. The look of surprise on her face and her quick, squirrelly movements made me wonder why she always had to look so damned guilty of something. Even when she was simply packing.
“Robin. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
I furrowed my brow, not sure how to respond to that.
“When I saw John carry you away in his arms . . .” She trailed off, and was that a flush to her cheeks?
Was Madam Marian, proprietor of Madam Marian’s Teahouse, which was actually an upscale whorehouse sitting in my former family manor, actually showing a hint of embarrassment and shame? Or was that simply jealousy tinting her cheeks?
She cleared her throat. “To answer your question, I’ll be joining you in time.”
“You thought Little John would keep me holed up in a cave for days on end, is that it?” I asked, my lips curving in a smirk.
For a moment, she thought I was serious, and her eyes darted to my face. When she saw my expression, she softened with a smug smirk of her own. “I didn’t put it past him.”
I nodded, then felt a bit embarrassed myself and rubbed the back of my neck. This had been a woman who was once intimately involved with the Merry Men—not Little John, specifically, because he had saved himself after the death of Imogen. But, still, it was a sore subject between us. She then moved onto my wicked father for sex and leverage, and possibly Sir Guy of Gisborne.
The history between us was not a kind one.
I changed topics before my cheeks could burn any pinker, saying, “What do you mean when you say you’ll be joining us ‘in time’?”
“I have unfinished business in Nottingham.” She squared her shoulders, defiant as ever, ready to defend herself from my accusations.
But they didn’t come. Not this time. Not after what I’d seen her do last night, and helping us capture Bishop Sutton.
For once, Maid Marian was the last person I could blame for our predicament.
“You helped us, Marian. I saw it. You saved lives.”
She said nothing, glancing away. More shame colored her cheeks.
“You’ve proven yourself,” I added with a heavy sigh. Hearing the words out loud made me surprised to hear them coming from my mouth. I was only finally realizing it, too. “You’re welcome back into the fold, Marian.”
She snapped to attention, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you trying to say, Robin Hood?”
“That I won’t try to stop you from going to Nottingham. All I’ll ask is that you don’t mention Bishop Sutton’s fate to anyone you see there, to help buy us some time.”
“I can do that.”
I nodded, swallowed hard, and turned to leave, not sure what else to say. My relationship with Marian had only ever been tenuous and violent. We weren’t friends, but I hoped we could somehow become allies. Especially if she kept proving herself as a reliable source of information, and a helpful boon to the Merry Men.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said, not wanting to pry into what she planned to do in Nottingham. It wasn’t my business.
At the flap of the tent, however, I paused and looked over my shoulder at her. She was already back to gathering her things.
“Don’t forget how you helped those orphans last night,” I said, my voice cracking.
“I did what anyone would do,” she said offhandedly, flapping her palm at me and not bothering to face me.
I flared my nostrils, stepping back into the circle of the tent. “Stop that.”
Her eyes lifted, hesitant.
“Stop putting down your valiant deeds because you don’t think you’re deserving of any accolades. You’re supposed to be a confident bitch who takes no prisoners. Take the fucking win for once and stop fighting against it, Marian. You do have good inside you. I’ve seen it now.”
My breaths came shallow after my outburst. I wasn’t even certain why I was so angry on Marian’s behalf. Perhaps it was because I’d seen her at her heights, and now she seemed somewhere near the depths of her lowest point, as if she had lost her confidence and ability to get things done.
Her jaw flexed as our eyes locked. Her green orbs flared, and she swept crimson-red strands of hair out of her face, tucking the strands behind her ears.
Then she said, “Don’t trust me, Robin of Loxley.” Her words came as a snarl, pushed past gritted teeth. She thrust a finger toward me. “Whatever you do, girl . . . don’t you ever fucking trust me.”
I blinked rapidly, my eyes blowing wide. “I worry I just might start, if you keep doing things like you did last night.”
She scoffed. Shook her head. “You’re hopeless, lass.” Returning to her things, disengaging from me, she murmured, “I’ll return to the Merry Men, Robin, because I don’t feel Nottingham is my place for much longer.” She glanced up at me with a stern expression on her beautiful, alabaster face. “And this time, when I come back, I hope to return without any cryptic messages, ulterior motives, or surprises.”