Page 103 of Queen of Sherwood

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.

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