Page 117 of Queen of Sherwood

She was right. We would have made an excellent team, despite what I’d said in the moment.

I put her behind me, knowing I’d likely never see the woman again. If she’s smart, that is. I was appreciative she’d given me the key to escape my cell, because I hadn’t been looking forward to spending more time there. Her reasoning seemed borne out of personal belief and honor rather than any favor to me.

As a changed woman, she wanted to show she was better than. Better than me—a ruthless, violent bastard. What she did for me was exactly what the Merry Men would have done for one of their own, regardless if they were guilty of the crime they were accused of. Actually, especially if they were guilty of the crime.

Once I was half a mile out of the jailhouse, Marian’s importance in my mind faded. She would either do what I asked of her, or she wouldn’t. Either way, I was finished with her and her illegitimate son.

I had more important things to do.

I came to a crossroads, both metaphorically and literally. One path, to the left, led to Castle Nottingham. The other, to the right, led to the eastern gate of town.

I could have fled the city. Hell, I could have become a Merry Man, most likely. An outlaw, now that I was an escaped fugitive. They would accept me after helping them, and I could start a new life away from the turmoil and treachery of Nottingham’s bureaucracy.

The decision was a difficult one, admittedly.

I stood at that fork in the road for a long time, pondering my options.

THE DOOR FLEW OPEN moments after I knocked on it.

The man’s eyes bulged, flabbergasted. He backpedaled in his room, dressed in little more than a robe and a silly, floppy hat.

“George,” I said with a simple nod.

The Sheriff took one look at my cloak, my black garb, and the sword at my waist, and croaked out, “H-How did you escape your cell?”

“Does it matter? What matters is that I’m here.”

He plopped down on his bed. “Here to . . . kill me?”

I chuckled and took a step into the room. When he went taut and rigid, I frowned. “Of course not, old friend. I am here to serve. As I said before.”

Marian had been correct, and I all but confirmed her accusation by coming here instead of leaving Nottingham to find my freedom.

Marian was correct in this way, which I’d never admit outside my own head: Robin of Loxley was not the only person I was bewitched by. The other—against every fiber of my being, and every logical thought in my mind—sat right before me, dumbstruck at my arrival.

Sheriff George needed me. Without me, he was a lost, pitiful man. He had no one but me to fix him and all his faults.

I supposed, in a way, I needed him, too. That was the part I struggled to admit or justify. We were dependent on one another.

Yet here I was. My decision was clear, and it really was never much of a choice at all. My place was by Sheriff George’s side, whether I liked it or not.

I was nothing if not loyal.

“So,” I said, folding my arms over my chest, “shall we rally the troops, prepare to march on Sherwood Forest, and burn the bandits out of their ramshackle homes, Sheriff?”

In response, George only beamed at me, like a child.

I entered the bedroom and shut the door behind me.

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.

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