Chapter 41 | Robin
Even with Sheriff George dead, we were not out of the proverbial woods. Because no one knew he was dead other than me and Robert.
George’s words sputtered through my mind, except this time with a ring of truth: “What do I gain from having you killed . . . without anyone knowing about it?”
I understood what he meant. We needed the soldiers of Nottingham to learn George had died, in order to stop all this madness. If he was the only man keeping this army going, then his death should cause it to falter.
Then again, there was a chance I had misjudged the situation completely. A chance that Sheriff George himself had only been a puppet-king, and someone else was funding this entire endeavor. That even if George died, his vengeance against the Merry Men and other bandits of Sherwood Forest would not end.
Of course, I thought with a start. That’s what Bishop Sutton was for. Who better to subsidize a war against an idea—freedom from tyranny, in this case—than a bishop of England? A man above reproach? Even laymen commoners would support such a vile war if a man like Sutton backed it.
That must have been their primary goal in working together, I realized. More than the sex slaving and the cathedral building: War brought higher taxes, higher taxes brought more money, and more money brought more power.
It was so obvious, now. George had likely had aspirations for an even higher station—one of true nobility outside the Sheriff’s seat of Nottingham. Sutton, well, had probably been well on his way to becoming a cardinal.
I shook my head of the thoughts, trying to tamp down the spinning wheels in my head. My legs had slowed from the burn in my muscles, yet I kept trying to follow in Robert’s wake. He ran at a sprint, and I was struck with confusion and tiredness.
“Come on, Robin! Don’t slow now!” he yelled back at me. “Just a little further!”
I gulped, nodded, and flared my nostrils to push on. The air was dry and chill in my nose, sweeping down to my lungs. My clammy body felt on the verge of collapse, yet I didn’t slow. I ignored the pain of my bruised body from the beating I’d suffered.
We reached the base of the hill and charged into the tree line. Branches and bushes blurred by as we ran toward the glade, where my senses erupted all at once from the sounds of groaning, dying voices, and the stench of piss, sweat, and blood.
My heart seized in my chest. If anything has happened to my men because I abandoned them, I’ll never forgive myself.
I bit back tears. Even if I had wanted to cry, the rushing wind in my face wouldn’t have let me. My whole body was dry and cracking.
We reached the northern edge of the trees, and leapt out into the meadow, swords drawn.
I gawked at the sight, nearly dropping my blade.
Bodies littered the field, piled on every patch of earth. Men on their backs, bleeding out; on their sides, their stomachs; appendages splayed awkwardly in death. The grass felt an inch thick with blood.
Standing tall—or, rather, doubled over, knees bent, crippled-looking—were my Merry Men.
Tears trickled in rivulets down my cheeks as I beamed. I let out a disgusting sound of relief, a mix between a sob and a yelp.
The men heard me, and their faces lifted: Little John, Will Scarlet, Alan-a-Dale, Friar Tuck. All alive. Briggs was, too.
For some reason, they didn’t smile wide when they saw me. I noticed the blanket of relief and the huge exhales of breath, learning I was alive. But something else bothered them greatly.
They were standing over a body, and from my angle I couldn’t make it out in the darkness.
“Oh, no . . .” Robert croaked.
I took his arm, my fingers trembling, my smile twitching. We rushed over to the scene, and my smile fell completely, flipping to a horrified expression.
Uncle Gregory lay on his back, arms splayed wide. Staring up at the heavens with unseeing eyes. There were a dozen cuts across his armor, tunic, body, and blood patched his skin and thickened in his white beard. His greatsword was flung off to the side. A hint of a smile showed on his pale, gray face.
My voice was a whisper. “No . . . uncle . . .”
I crumpled to my knees, heart twisting and clutching and finally shattering into fragments.
“I am so sorry, little hope,” Little John said in an even deeper voice than usual.
His huge hand fell on my shoulder. Will Scarlet’s hand fell on my other shoulder, both of the men trying to console me with gentle squeezes.
My life paused, memories taking over, the sounds of alarm behind us drowning away.
I was brought back to my childhood with this man. This stalwart beacon of resilience, endurance, and honor. My childhood was not an unpleasant time, and Uncle Gregory had played a large part in that. Visiting him with my elder brother always brought us great joy in the summer months. It was the only time, as a child, when we were freed from our respective duties: one as heir-apparent, the other as pampered princess who had to learn her duties.
Gregory was different than other noblemen. He didn’t carry himself like one. He respected the common man, not adhering to the entitlement and pettiness of the gentry. Gregory brought out the best in everyone, and anyone who met him left his presence being a bit better for it.
He was a spark that lit a fire under your ass. Fiercely loyal, even when I thought he hadn’t been at one point during my stay with the Merry Men. Even more fiercely protective. A master strategist. Even better on the field of battle.
The corpses surrounding him were proof of it. Judging by the gaping wounds across their bodies, it looked like Sir Gregory of Wilford had damn near brought the entire company down by himself.
“He was heroic in his final stand, urging us to try and find you,” Friar Tuck said. “Yet we couldn’t leave him to die alone.” He was embracing a staggering Robert, arm wrapped around his middle while Briggs kept my brother upright on the other side.
“An honest-to-God champion, worthy of a song,” Alan-a-Dale murmured. “He will be missed. He went out the way he wanted, little songbird.”
I gulped and nodded, coming back to life. The tears had dried, and too much had happened for me to register all the emotions I was feeling.
“Robin,” my brother said, his voice cracking. “We need . . . to go.”
I looked over my shoulder, noticing his eyes had moved up to the hill out of the trees. There, above the canopies of the trees in the distance, scouring down the middle of the hill, were torchlights moving in our direction. They flickered on the hillside and looked like they danced in the sky itself, coupling with the stars.
“We aren’t leaving him,” I said, putting a hand to my uncle’s cold knuckles.
Robert’s face firmed. “No. We’re not.”
Everyone moved in tandem at the directive. John acted first, without complaint, and gripped Uncle Gregory under his arms. Tuck and Briggs moved to his feet, each of them taking a leg.
My heart broke all over again when the men lifted the dead weight of my uncle and I saw how his body sagged. His soul was gone, leaving in its wake a shell. Now, he was simply a heap of ruined flesh and armor.
The trio lifting Gregory grunted as they hurried toward the southern copse of trees, which would lead back to the open pasture filled with sleeping horses, and eventually our own steeds.
It was a far way to go, especially carrying a weighty dead body with us. I had to think practically about this.
I watched as Robert kneeled in front of Gregory’s greatsword, almost like he was praying, and traced his fingers across the flat of the blade. Then he swooped it off the ground with both hands, stood, and nodded to me before running off toward John, Tuck, Briggs, and Gregory.
As if reading my mind, Will Scarlet came up next to me, and Alan-a-Dale next to him. All three of us saw how the trio of men at the other end of the glade struggled to shuffle along while awkwardly carrying Gregory.
“The soldiers will catch up to us,” Will murmured in my ear. “There’s no way they make it back to the horses with your uncle in tow. They’re living a fantasy.”
“Aye,” Alan answered. “Fantasy is my jurisdiction. And the little badger is correct. As noble as it is to bring Gregory back with us . . .”
When the minstrel trailed off, I scowled at him. “What do you have in mind?” I asked Will.
We started toward the rest of our group, not too fast. Behind us, the cries of soldiers and clattering of armor filled the night sky, growing louder. They were getting closer. Will was right: We’d never make it back to the horses before they caught up with us. Not with Gregory.
Slowly, Will’s lips curved in a wicked smirk. “Remember when I tested your knowledge of the forest during our training?”
“Yes,” I snapped, eyes narrowing. “When you chased me, tackled me, and ripped the clothes from my body.”
Alan lifted a finger, humming. “I remember, too. Quite exhilarating.” When we both stared daggers at him, he shrugged innocently. “What? I was watching from the wildflowers, remember?”
“I’d do it all over again, little thorn, if you’d give me the chance,” Will said.
My brow furrowed. We reached the tree line and ducked out of the glade, into the stuffy woods. Somewhere ahead were the rest of our crew, grunting along as they walked with Gregory, paused to take a breath, and then continued on.
I loved them for what they were doing.
I worried it would get them killed, though.
“What are you trying to say, Will?”
“Let’s test your knowledge again, lass, to give our comrades some assistance. Except this time, I’ll help you, instead of hurting you.”
“Hurting me?” I scoffed incredulously. “We both enjoyed that, Scarlet. As if you could ever hurt me.”
His eyes twinkled roguishly. So did mine, I reckoned. We both smiled.
“As you say, little thorn.” His voice was a low, guttural rasp, as if he could hardly control himself when he stared at me and we talked like this.
Alan’s eyes swiveled between our faces. “Are you two about to fuck? At a time like this? Kinky, which I’m all for, except wholly inapprop—”
“Shut up, dandelion.”
I snorted, smiling cruelly. Will brought that out of me—the darker bits of life that I loved to embrace.
“Remember what you said to me back then?” Will asked.
I thought a moment. “I am the forest. Except I think it was actually you who said it, Will. I just thought it.”
His wicked smirk widened. “Then let’s test that theory, shall we?”