Page 118 of Queen of Sherwood

Something was dreadfully wrong with my soul. Tarnished. Robin Hood’s heart had broken too many times, and I worried the break was beyond repair at this point. They worried, too.

While I continued with my addled mind, trying to find peace when I knew there was none to be had, the rhythm of bandit life returned to some sense of normalcy for everyone else.

In some ways, the camp seemed lighter than ever before. Because not only had we left our ragged camp behind, and the people in it, but we’d also left the stink of death behind us.

Or at least that was the façade we imagined.

As spring flowers began to renew life in Sherwood Forest, and green sprouted in abundance, I noticed the connection between different members of our large group.

Emma and Rosco, who had first resorted to jibes and sneering looks, had begun holding hands when they walked through camp together. They talked in hushed tones, and Rosco had only eyes for her. He made her laugh and giggle, and when she shielded her blushing face with her hands, it made me smile.

I’d always known Ros fancied Emma. They had practically grown up together, before Emma became my family’s handmaid and Rosco staked out on his own as a guttersnipe with his friends, leaving Tuck’s almshouse.

Now, they had no reason to hide their attachment and intimacy. Like I’d always said, and had heard Little John say countless times: Here, in the forest, we could be free from the confines of civilized living, and status decided by political maneuverings over love.

Emma and Rosco were perfect examples of that freedom from judgment. Loving for love’s sake.

At the same time, Emma’s younger sister Gracie had found intimacy with a young woman in camp, Ada. It was another example of two people finding love in the most unlikeliest of places, where they wouldn’t be judged.

The two of them shared a story with each other that they shared with no one else: Ada had been taken to Rufford Abbey as a precursor to getting shipped away on the flesh market, along with Gracie’s sister Emma. After rescuing them and liberating the orphans from the almshouse in Nottingham—including Gracie—Emma introduced her younger sister to Ada, and the two formed an inseparable bond.

Taffa and Brandt, though young, had both been rescued from Tuck’s orphanage. There, love was impossible, because life was impossible. One was a one-eyed, soft-spoken boy who had a penchant for fantasy and myth. The other was a strong, capable young woman who was among our best female fighters—resilient, realistic, and pragmatic. They couldn’t have made an odder couple, and yet, here in Sherwood, it worked.

Jimmy and Tick, Rosco’s guttersnipe friends, had not crossed the threshold to young love, yet. Everyone but them knew it was coming, however, and I often found them blushing at each other as they did their chores in camp. Tick, the lad who had been sickly on a constant basis in Nottingham, seemed rejuvenated and renewed in the fresh, crisp forest. Faraway from the filth of the city, he was a different person. He could breathe easier.

Jimmy made breathing tougher for Tick, though, in an entirely different way. Here, it was his heart fluttering, as I imagined, while Jimmy played songs for Tick. The boy we used to call “Bucktooth Jimmy” had quickly become one of Alan-a-Dale’s most excellent and promising students of music.

Though Jimmy and Tick had not crossed that threshold yet, they opted instead for rigorous wrestling sessions, like most boys. Except their “angry” wrestling sessions lasted a bit longer than most, and were quite handsy, even for wrestling.

In Sherwood Forest, those two could take their time learning to understand themselves, and not be ashamed of it. I frequently caught Alan lecturing them in a low voice, but to this point it only made them bashful and annoyed. Alan-a-Dale was like a doting father who only wanted the best for his children, and those two were his unruliest charges.

Wulfric and Bess, of course, had fallen madly for each other. Their endearment, found toward the latter portion of both of their lives, was a testament to the power of freedom in the woods. Everyone I knew who was an older Merry Man or Oak Boy loved to see it. The younglings snickered about their very public love for each other.

Like Taffa and Brandt, Wulfric and Bess couldn’t have been more different: a nomadic, dark-skinned healer with wolves for pets who often spoke in riddles; and a stern, straight-to-the-point woman who had always been surrounded by people, and would likely love to eat those pet wolves if she could find the best way to cook them.

I liked to think Maria and Griff, had they both lived, would have found love together in Much the Miller’s Son’s absence. They had been so close to reaching that plateau, until catastrophe had struck for both of them. I blamed myself for their deaths, even though I knew it wasn’t healthy to do that—Friar Tuck had taught me that one.

For Maria, I couldn’t protect her from the vileness of this world more than one time. Though we had been in that awful carriage ride together, and she had saved my life and helped me escape my shackles, I hadn’t been able to return the favor. The persistent evil permeating the fringes of these woods eventually did her in.

And for Griff, well, the heartbreak had simply been too much to bear. I blamed myself for him because I didn’t have time to try and talk him out of drowning himself in that river.

My eyes burned, and I blinked them away. I sat at the entrance of my tent, flap open, staring out at camp. My legs were crossed and I ate an apple.

The abrupt thought of Maria and Griff brought down my mood, so I tried to stuff it away as I gazed out. The morning sun was bright, piercing through soft clouds, and the birds and animals of the forest were loud. All things considered, this was about as much peace as the Merry Men-Oak Boys alliance had found yet. I couldn’t take that for granted.

Landing my eyes on Rosco and Emma near the center of the camp made me smile. Rosco stood with one leg propped up on a knoll, regaling Emma with a tall tale and gesticulating arms. Emma laughed every once in a while, and her eyes were big for him. She sat with her hands folded, so polite, yet I could see the desire in her gaze as she stared up at the lanky, thin, quick-witted young man.

Snickering, I bit into the apple, shaking my head.

“Think we’ll be having Merry Men and Oak Boys babies soon, sister?”

The voice made me choke on my apple slice. I pounded my chest a few times, coughing, and then looked up at my brother who stood next to my tent with his arms crossed. He was staring at the same thing I was—Rosco and Emma—but looked down at me with bobbing eyebrows a moment later, and a roguish grin on his face.

“Jesus, Robert, you nearly killed me,” I said, chewing my slice into mush before swallowing. “Warn a girl before you sneak up on her with questions like that, eh?”

He laughed and sat next to me. “It’s an honest question, though. You see what I see happening around here.”

“Aye. I do.”

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