Page 106 of Queen of Sherwood

“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.”

Chapter 28

Robin

We were ready to leave the hideaway we’d kept for months. It had become well-lived, like an honest home to the Merry Men.

Our packs were ready. The ground in the glade was left with the divots of our carriages, work benches, boots, hooves, tent stakes, and log seats. In the surrounding woods, numerous bodies were buried, including those we gave makeshift grave markers like Maria and Jamie, and those with unmarked graves, like Bishop Sutton.

Sadness crept into me as we prepared to leave before the setting of the sun. We would be adrift once more—nomadic, as we had been before.

Perhaps we have become too complacent recently, with Sheriff George and his hounds not bothering us as much.

Bess and Wulfric made a hearty meal before we left, to carry us through the night. No hallucinogenic herbs or spices involved this time.

As we ate, I caught Little John’s eye gazing far away, to the other side of camp.

He was looking at Enid, Ada, Gracie, Taffa, and the other orphan girls, who were huddled next to the almshouse boys like Brand and the guttersnipes like Rosco, Tick, and Jimmy.

I noticed Enid’s downcast disposition. Her small shoulders shook with silent tears. Her body was frail and her knees were hunched up to her chest. She was in despair, blaming herself for us having to move camps.

In truth, as I’d discussed with my mates along the riverbank, I didn’t blame her for acting out against Bishop Sutton. She saw him as a conduit for her attack, and the other girls joined her in a moment of violent mob mentality.

What’s done is done. There’s nothing to do about it, now.

The other members of the Merry Men and Oak Boys, however, might not have seen it that way. I saw more than a few sneers aimed in Enid’s direction, and it filled me with loathing.

Little John rose from his seat next to me and put down his eating bowl. He marched toward that side of camp, and every Merry Man and Oak Boy watched him go toward the orphans.

Furrowing my brow, I stood, glanced at my other mates, and hurried to catch up to him. “John?” I called out.

---