Chapter 31 | Robin
It took us a few days to settle into the Oak Boys’ camp on the eastern edge of Nottinghamshire. Even once we “settled,” I felt uneasy. It was not only our Merry Men camp we had left behind—a hideaway we had held longer than any before it, and truly began to see as a home of sorts. It was also the people we left behind, buried in their shallow graves.
Maria, Jamie, Griff, Much, and all the others. The numbers were growing, and with every new face I thought of, and the horrid ways they had died, I got sadder and angrier.
My mates stayed close to me. They watched over me like I was a young pup fit to lose my mind at any moment. I hated the feeling of them needing to keep watch over me, but I understood their reasoning.
Something was dreadfully wrong with my soul. Tarnished. Robin Hood’s heart had broken too many times, and I worried the break was beyond repair at this point. They worried, too.
While I continued with my addled mind, trying to find peace when I knew there was none to be had, the rhythm of bandit life returned to some sense of normalcy for everyone else.
In some ways, the camp seemed lighter than ever before. Because not only had we left our ragged camp behind, and the people in it, but we’d also left the stink of death behind us.
Or at least that was the fa?ade we imagined.
As spring flowers began to renew life in Sherwood Forest, and green sprouted in abundance, I noticed the connection between different members of our large group.
Emma and Rosco, who had first resorted to jibes and sneering looks, had begun holding hands when they walked through camp together. They talked in hushed tones, and Rosco had only eyes for her. He made her laugh and giggle, and when she shielded her blushing face with her hands, it made me smile.
I’d always known Ros fancied Emma. They had practically grown up together, before Emma became my family’s handmaid and Rosco staked out on his own as a guttersnipe with his friends, leaving Tuck’s almshouse.
Now, they had no reason to hide their attachment and intimacy. Like I’d always said, and had heard Little John say countless times: Here, in the forest, we could be free from the confines of civilized living, and status decided by political maneuverings over love.
Emma and Rosco were perfect examples of that freedom from judgment. Loving for love’s sake.
At the same time, Emma’s younger sister Gracie had found intimacy with a young woman in camp, Ada. It was another example of two people finding love in the most unlikeliest of places, where they wouldn’t be judged.
The two of them shared a story with each other that they shared with no one else: Ada had been taken to Rufford Abbey as a precursor to getting shipped away on the flesh market, along with Gracie’s sister Emma. After rescuing them and liberating the orphans from the almshouse in Nottingham—including Gracie—Emma introduced her younger sister to Ada, and the two formed an inseparable bond.
Taffa and Brandt, though young, had both been rescued from Tuck’s orphanage. There, love was impossible, because life was impossible. One was a one-eyed, soft-spoken boy who had a penchant for fantasy and myth. The other was a strong, capable young woman who was among our best female fighters—resilient, realistic, and pragmatic. They couldn’t have made an odder couple, and yet, here in Sherwood, it worked.
Jimmy and Tick, Rosco’s guttersnipe friends, had not crossed the threshold to young love, yet. Everyone but them knew it was coming, however, and I often found them blushing at each other as they did their chores in camp. Tick, the lad who had been sickly on a constant basis in Nottingham, seemed rejuvenated and renewed in the fresh, crisp forest. Faraway from the filth of the city, he was a different person. He could breathe easier.
Jimmy made breathing tougher for Tick, though, in an entirely different way. Here, it was his heart fluttering, as I imagined, while Jimmy played songs for Tick. The boy we used to call “Bucktooth Jimmy” had quickly become one of Alan-a-Dale’s most excellent and promising students of music.
Though Jimmy and Tick had not crossed that threshold yet, they opted instead for rigorous wrestling sessions, like most boys. Except their “angry” wrestling sessions lasted a bit longer than most, and were quite handsy, even for wrestling.
In Sherwood Forest, those two could take their time learning to understand themselves, and not be ashamed of it. I frequently caught Alan lecturing them in a low voice, but to this point it only made them bashful and annoyed. Alan-a-Dale was like a doting father who only wanted the best for his children, and those two were his unruliest charges.
Wulfric and Bess, of course, had fallen madly for each other. Their endearment, found toward the latter portion of both of their lives, was a testament to the power of freedom in the woods. Everyone I knew who was an older Merry Man or Oak Boy loved to see it. The younglings snickered about their very public love for each other.
Like Taffa and Brandt, Wulfric and Bess couldn’t have been more different: a nomadic, dark-skinned healer with wolves for pets who often spoke in riddles; and a stern, straight-to-the-point woman who had always been surrounded by people, and would likely love to eat those pet wolves if she could find the best way to cook them.
I liked to think Maria and Griff, had they both lived, would have found love together in Much the Miller’s Son’s absence. They had been so close to reaching that plateau, until catastrophe had struck for both of them. I blamed myself for their deaths, even though I knew it wasn’t healthy to do that—Friar Tuck had taught me that one.
For Maria, I couldn’t protect her from the vileness of this world more than one time. Though we had been in that awful carriage ride together, and she had saved my life and helped me escape my shackles, I hadn’t been able to return the favor. The persistent evil permeating the fringes of these woods eventually did her in.
And for Griff, well, the heartbreak had simply been too much to bear. I blamed myself for him because I didn’t have time to try and talk him out of drowning himself in that river.
My eyes burned, and I blinked them away. I sat at the entrance of my tent, flap open, staring out at camp. My legs were crossed and I ate an apple.
The abrupt thought of Maria and Griff brought down my mood, so I tried to stuff it away as I gazed out. The morning sun was bright, piercing through soft clouds, and the birds and animals of the forest were loud. All things considered, this was about as much peace as the Merry Men-Oak Boys alliance had found yet. I couldn’t take that for granted.
Landing my eyes on Rosco and Emma near the center of the camp made me smile. Rosco stood with one leg propped up on a knoll, regaling Emma with a tall tale and gesticulating arms. Emma laughed every once in a while, and her eyes were big for him. She sat with her hands folded, so polite, yet I could see the desire in her gaze as she stared up at the lanky, thin, quick-witted young man.
Snickering, I bit into the apple, shaking my head.
“Think we’ll be having Merry Men and Oak Boys babies soon, sister?”
The voice made me choke on my apple slice. I pounded my chest a few times, coughing, and then looked up at my brother who stood next to my tent with his arms crossed. He was staring at the same thing I was—Rosco and Emma—but looked down at me with bobbing eyebrows a moment later, and a roguish grin on his face.
“Jesus, Robert, you nearly killed me,” I said, chewing my slice into mush before swallowing. “Warn a girl before you sneak up on her with questions like that, eh?”
He laughed and sat next to me. “It’s an honest question, though. You see what I see happening around here.”
“Aye. I do.”
“Does it make you happy? Knowing you’ve been such an excellent matchmaker for all these young folk?”
I flushed, cheeks warm, and couldn’t look Robert in the eye. “That, er, was not my intention with this alliance. Or with becoming leader of the Merry Men.”
“Intention, maybe not. But a pleasant byproduct, no?”
My head flicked left to right. I sucked on my teeth, trying to find an unruly piece of apple skin between them. “I suppose so. It is nice to see my friends finding their people. I hope the dalliances are more than simple trysts, and can stand the test of time.”
Robert snorted. “Always so serious and future-seeing, Robin. Can’t you just live in the present, and enjoy what these fine younglings are enjoying? The company of each other?”
I pouted, then clicked my tongue. “I suppose I can try.”
“Good.”
A pause, as the camp continued its lazy morning in peace. Though only a few days had passed since the horrible night with the Muddy Meddlers and Bishop Sutton, everyone here knew this was only a temporary peace.
There could be no other answer than retaliation for what we’d done. Even if Sheriff George didn’t know about Sutton’s fate, or the extent of the damage we had caused to his carriages and his soldiers, he would find out soon enough. Word traveled fast in Nottinghamshire—even out here in the remote woods.
The one thing we had going for us, I imagined, was that Sir George didn’t yet know Sutton was dead. Thinking the bishop was simply our captive meant George had to tread lightly. He couldn’t risk angering us, for fear of retaliation against Sutton.
At the same time, I knew the Sheriff of Nottingham had no qualms with angering everyone around him, which meant we were never truly safe. Damn the consequences. He only cared for his own interests.
And if Sir Guy was still at his side, then we had our work cut out for us, because Guy was twice as cunning and dangerous as the Sheriff himself.
Everyone except the Sheriff knew it.
“How about you?” I asked, trying to “live in the present” as he’d asked.
There was no point worrying about Sheriff George and Sir Guy of Gisborne until we had new information. Which should be coming back before nightfall, if all things go well for Will and John.
“Hmm?” He blinked at me, bewildered, as if he’d been lost in his own thoughts. He pulled his knees up toward his chest and wrapped his arms around them.
“Anyone you see in camp that seems worthy to make whelps with? Carry on our fucked-up family legacy?”
He laughed. “You asked me that once before.”
“Aye. That was then. Now is now. Live in the present, brother.”
Robert scoffed and bounced over, shouldering me.
I chuckled.
“There is one I’ve had my eye on, I suppose . . .”
He trailed off, and I followed his eyes as they veered across camp—
To the shapely form of Maid Marian, who sashayed toward a group of younglings, a barrel of water held in both arms. She even made hauling water look pleasant and attractive.
Marian had returned to us just the other day. For once, she had been welcomed back without hostility.
But that still didn’t stop my stomach from dropping when I saw my brother staring at her with a glint in his eye.
I stifled a gasp and shook my head, adamant. “W-What? Her?”
“I like her fire. And I’ve seen what she’s done with the orphans. She’s good with them. Shows she’d be good with, erm, other whelps.”
My nose wrinkled of its own volition. I couldn’t stop shaking my head, utterly flabbergasted at seeing something so obvious that I’d never noticed until now.
How have I missed this?!
I thought about it some more. I mean, Robert is a handsome, capable young man. No doubt. Quite dashing. And Marian is a finely crafted, beautiful woman. I’m often jealous of her appearance. But that doesn’t make this right!
There was another thing I remembered, right then, that soured my stomach. Robert doesn’t know that Marian and our father . . . once upon a time . . . Ugh. This is awful.
I didn’t want to tell Rob that Marian had seduced Sir Thomas to get in his coffers, and that our father had been unfaithful to our dying mother with this damnable woman.
“Robert,” I said, clearing my dry throat. “Need I warn you—”
“What she’s done to the Merry Men in the past? How she’s betrayed you all, on multiple occasions?”
I nodded vigorously, throwing my arms up. “Yes!”
Robert sighed and sat back, leaning his head against an upright stake of my tent. “I’ve never been part of the Merry Men, Robin. All I can say is, my history with that gorgeous woman is clean, and she’s never been a problem to the Oak Boys.”
He shouldered me again, which did nothing to pull me out of my dumbfounded mind. Then he slapped my knee and stood up with a groan. “Besides,” he said, and winked down at me. “I haven’t even made my move yet. Who knows if she’d have me?”
A dashing protector half her age? The co-leader of our alliance? A man with status, integrity, and charm?
Brother . . . Maid Marian would have a goddamn wild boar in her bed if it snorted loudly enough and could elevate her position.
I frowned as he started walking away, toward the boar-fucker in question. Opening my mouth to shout at him some more, I closed it when I realized I had no room to talk.
I’m currently sharing my bed with four separate men. Suppose I should keep my mouth shut on matters of the heart.
With Robert gone, I stood and stretched my arms over my head. He could do what he wished, I supposed. He was a grown man. No longer that wry, sprightly little boy I sprouted up with.
I took one step away from my tent and—
“Thorn!”
Froze.
Fucking hell. Here we go again.
I spun around at the familiar voice of Will Scarlet behind me, loud and urgent, coming from the southern edge of camp.
For a man who insisted on calling me “little thorn” all the time, he truly could be a thorn in my ass.
“Aye? What is it? You’re back so soon.”
Will pushed through some trees and undergrowth, bounding over a hill. He ran down the other end toward me. His eyes were wild, his face pale.
“Will?” I asked, more seriously this time, taking a step toward him.
Then I saw why he was so flustered.
The big man called Landon, deputy leader of Ravenshead in Bishop Sutton’s vacancy—which I supposed meant he could take that position on a full-time basis now—walked down the hill after Will.
Landon looked messy, with tattered clothes and a bloodied arm.
And behind him . . . were dozens of men, women, and children shuffling into view. Appearing just as decrepit, lost, and dejected as him. Mothers held their arms around waist-high children; men held rusty swords, hoes, rakes, and sickles; whelps were hugging bosoms, crying and wailing.
It looked like the entire damn village of Ravenshead, once home to Will Scarlet’s father, had come to pay us a visit.
“Shit,” I said under my breath.
“Aye,” Will answered. “It’s bad. Ravenshead has been fucking razed to the ground, Robin. My father’s estate and farm? Completely demolished.” When my eyes widened and my heart stopped, he added, “I’ll give you one guess as to who’s responsible.”
I had hoped we would’ve had more time.
Alas, nothing is ever timely in Sherwood Forest.
Will’s eyes burned with utter rage. I understood his feelings, and I couldn’t deny him his anger. Not when I felt it burning so hot inside me, too.
In a low, groaning voice, I muttered, “So it begins.”