Page 119 of Queen of Sherwood

“Does it make you happy? Knowing you’ve been such an excellent matchmaker for all these young folk?”

I flushed, cheeks warm, and couldn’t look Robert in the eye. “That, er, was not my intention with this alliance. Or with becoming leader of the Merry Men.”

“Intention, maybe not. But a pleasant byproduct, no?”

My head flicked left to right. I sucked on my teeth, trying to find an unruly piece of apple skin between them. “I suppose so. It is nice to see my friends finding their people. I hope the dalliances are more than simple trysts, and can stand the test of time.”

Robert snorted. “Always so serious and future-seeing, Robin. Can’t you just live in the present, and enjoy what these fine younglings are enjoying? The company of each other?”

I pouted, then clicked my tongue. “I suppose I can try.”

“Good.”

A pause, as the camp continued its lazy morning in peace. Though only a few days had passed since the horrible night with the Muddy Meddlers and Bishop Sutton, everyone here knew this was only a temporary peace.

There could be no other answer than retaliation for what we’d done. Even if Sheriff George didn’t know about Sutton’s fate, or the extent of the damage we had caused to his carriages and his soldiers, he would find out soon enough. Word traveled fast in Nottinghamshire—even out here in the remote woods.

The one thing we had going for us, I imagined, was that Sir George didn’t yet know Sutton was dead. Thinking the bishop was simply our captive meant George had to tread lightly. He couldn’t risk angering us, for fear of retaliation against Sutton.

At the same time, I knew the Sheriff of Nottingham had no qualms with angering everyone around him, which meant we were never truly safe. Damn the consequences. He only cared for his own interests.

And if Sir Guy was still at his side, then we had our work cut out for us, because Guy was twice as cunning and dangerous as the Sheriff himself.

Everyone except the Sheriff knew it.

“How about you?” I asked, trying to “live in the present” as he’d asked.

There was no point worrying about Sheriff George and Sir Guy of Gisborne until we had new information. Which should be coming back before nightfall, if all things go well for Will and John.

“Hmm?” He blinked at me, bewildered, as if he’d been lost in his own thoughts. He pulled his knees up toward his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

“Anyone you see in camp that seems worthy to make whelps with? Carry on our fucked-up family legacy?”

He laughed. “You asked me that once before.”

“Aye. That was then. Now is now. Live in the present, brother.”

Robert scoffed and bounced over, shouldering me.

I chuckled.

“There is one I’ve had my eye on, I suppose . . .”

He trailed off, and I followed his eyes as they veered across camp—

To the shapely form of Maid Marian, who sashayed toward a group of younglings, a barrel of water held in both arms. She even made hauling water look pleasant and attractive.

Marian had returned to us just the other day. For once, she had been welcomed back without hostility.

But that still didn’t stop my stomach from dropping when I saw my brother staring at her with a glint in his eye.

I stifled a gasp and shook my head, adamant. “W-What? Her?”

“I like her fire. And I’ve seen what she’s done with the orphans. She’s good with them. Shows she’d be good with, erm, other whelps.”

My nose wrinkled of its own volition. I couldn’t stop shaking my head, utterly flabbergasted at seeing something so obvious that I’d never noticed until now.

How have I missed this?!

---