Page 105 of Queen of Sherwood

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?”

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